The Shell Game
by MastersofNight
Summary: Continuation of The Sorcerer of Rouen. Erik and Emily’s courtship becomes complicated with an American Pinkerton agent, a gang of American criminals, a secret French crime syndicate, Monsieur Colt’s big brother. Post ALW
1. Chapter 1

**Category: **Book, Phantom of the Opera

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** T

**Summary: **Continuation of the story _Sorcerer of Rouen_. As Erik and Emily's courtship begins, complications arise in the form of an American Pinkerton agent, a gang of American criminals, a secret French crime syndicate, Monsieur Colt's big brother and a stolen Egyptian mask. Four years post ALW.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it either…I'll get in the back of the line with everyone else who has ever gone this way. I do own everyone in Rouen however, they just don't know it.

* * *

Prologue: _ Erik_

It took hours for the full realization to settle upon me.

I have learned to ponder the possibilities and the consequences of every act. I want to have on hand my armaments to deal with the situation: persuasion, logic, the knowledge of my adversary. All of these fled me like shadows before the dawn when I sat Emily down on the piano bench and announced my intent to court her.

My God, I realized later that I had actually _told _her, not asked her. I am amazed now that she didn't balk at my pronouncement. Why had I done that? As I dressed that morning I had rehearsed what I would say to her, but when the time came it had slipped my mind as would water out of a leaky pail, leaving me feeling like a callow youth.

But I am a determined man. She is a woman of intelligence and a kind heart. She displays a rather eccentric sense of humor, but it is that in her that I value as well. All of these factors led me to push away my doubts and form a plan to seduce her, convince her, to offer everything I have to her in hopes that she would come to love me.

I am not even sure when it started. Perhaps it was that first night she arrived in my study and insinuated herself into my life. I could not help but be intrigued. I was accustomed to dealing with women who feared me. They would scurry away like mice, refuse to meet my eye, flinch when I speak to them, snatch things from my hand as if I was monstrous enough to grab their hand and carry them off.

_I have been a monster……But you, my dear readers, know that don't you…_

Emily has not seen that monster. The closest she has come to that creature is when I go about as the scarred man, Charles Martin. I leave behind the gentleman in the study, the white mask, and trade them for an oversized black patch which obscures my eye and some of my deformity. My clothing is from the days I worked the boats and is a reflection of that man: threadbare, coarse, stained.

It is as that man she actually reached out and touched me for the first time. She had smiled and called me "Dar-lenn" again. I had heard that word for the first time when she disobeyed me in the study. She had thought it was amusing that I had people watch over her. I do not remember ever making a woman laugh at something I said, _or how it made me feel._

It was that night when she touched me that I realized I could not let her drift in and out of my life anymore; I wanted her there with me. I would pursue her, be damned with her idea of not being available. She based her decision to not re-marry on her barren state. I do not care. I had resigned myself to being alone and never believed I would be a father.

I face one last situation of such enormity that it leaves me apprehensive; how to tell her of my past. I sense that she trusts me, but she does not know the Devil's Child, or the Opera Ghost. Will she be appalled by what I have been, by the lives I have ruined? Will she turn away? Will I see in her eyes what I have seen in so many others?

I stand on the rim of a chasm. Looking back I see all that I have ever wanted in my life, and turning I see the yawning depths that await this flawed vessel that harbors what is left of a soul. I will be standing on this edge until I offer a hand to her, _the hand of the Phantom_.

She will either take that hand in her own, or step forward to push me off into the last, deepest darkness.

_Erik_

_

* * *

_

_June: Rouen, France_

An elbow propped on the small table, the steam from a second cup of tea rising from her cup, and the repetitive slapping sound of her slipper against her jiggling foot, Emily Griggs flipped another page in her book. She could feel the end coming; the mystery about to be resolved, the hero would be free to declare his undying devotion to his lady, and they would all live happily ever after. Or maybe not.

The last book by this mysterious new English author had ended after a series of plot twists that had left the readers and the literary critics reeling. The author had killed off a major character, retired the hero of the story to pass on his work to a son of a dear friend, and left his readers eagerly awaiting the sequel. The second book had taken nearly two weeks to reach her, bought in London by Peter Oldershaw, her fellow Remington representative, and packed off in the post to her.

Glancing furtively over the top of the next page, the clock told her it really was time to get ready for her first appointment. She pursed her lips and slid her bookmark between the pages; she'd have to finish later. Her slipper dropped off of her foot, and as she bent to retrieve it she noticed the sound.

A repetitive thud-bumping noise on the stair outside was getting closer. She listened as it stopped on the landing before her door, passed by with a scraping sound, and started up the next flight of stairs. The third floor apartment had been empty, so this must be the new neighbor.

* * *

_Three Months Previous: Paris_

"Can you believe this?" Chief Inspector d'Entremont laughed as he handed his visitor the telegram.

Taking it from the man's hand, Joseph Sterns saw that the sender was an Inspector Quinn of the New York City police. He made a show of taking out his spectacles and putting them on, even though he could read it without them. "Inspector…..recently come to light that a gang of forgers has fled…..believed to be heading to Europe." He took the spectacles off and affected a surprised face, "A gang of criminals!"

The inspector made a pained face and waved away his companions' outburst. "Not to worry, these people are forgers, and Americans. They will not be able to get their inferior attempts past our experts. The Sûreté has a special department that deals strictly with forgers. They will be on them," he snapped his fingers, "as quick as a fox on a rabbit."

Sterns looked relieved, "I am so glad to hear that Monsieur Inspector." He looked at the man with wide-eyed admiration, "May I include this information in my new novel, Monsieur?"

The Inspector smiled beneficently, "Of course, as long as you do not mention names."

"Oh no, Monsieur," he replied. "Professional courtesy demands I change the names for protection of all the parties that might be implicated."

"Then I don't see any problem with you writing this into your next novel Monsieur Sterns."

As he prepared to take his leave of the Inspector, Sterns took a tin from his coat pocket, "Care for a Peppermint, Inspector?"

"Why thank you, I will take one." He popped the small candy in his mouth and winked at Sterns, "My mama loves peppermints."

Joseph Sterns, known to the New York City police force as 'Peppermint Joe' snapped the tin of candy closed and dropped it into his pocket. Outside the building he waited on the curb for a cab. That infernal telegram could have made his life difficult.

* * *

_June: Rouen_

"Madame Griggs, please come in. He says for you to go right up." Etienne Bardou stepped aside to allow Emily to step into the front hallway of Erik De La Shaumette's home.

"Thank you Etienne," she waved at Agnes who was watching from the kitchen door. The older woman smiled back at her, stepping into the hall way.

"Your dinner is prepared," she said pinning on her hat. Leaning closer to her husband, she whispered to Emily, "You're going to be alone together."

Emily adopted her best innocent face, "I'll make sure he behaves."

She started up the stairs as Agnes and Etienne Bardou stepped outside, locking the front door. Looking at one another they both smiled. Neither one of them hoped their employer would 'behave'.

In the study Erik listened to the steady tread of footsteps coming up the stairs, he brushed his coat pocket once more, assuring himself that the small box was still there. He'd waited three days to see Emily again. They'd parted when a knock at the study door had interrupted their kiss.

_He'd taken a deep breath and reluctantly let her go. She'd smiled shyly, and backed up, right into the piano bench. Letting out a surprised yelp, she had laughed and covered her mouth like a child. He couldn't help but smile. It was nice to know that Emily was as disconcerted as he was. _

There was a knock on the door, and he opened it. She stood on the landing with his note held up in two fingers, "You invited me for dinner?" she asked.

He stepped back holding the door open for her. "Yes Madame, we have arrangements to make."

"Arrangements?" She passed in a rustle of silk, dark blue to match her eyes, jet beading reflecting the glint of light as she moved. She wore the earrings he had sent her and a small necklace. What made the whole outfit perfect was the small smile she wore as she turned to him.

He left the door open and turned to take her arm, steering her towards the sofa. They both stopped before it and she looked at him. Always her eyes moved over his face like a caress. He leaned forward and she did as well. He took possession of her lips tenderly, lingering a moment. They were still as soft as he remembered.

"Yes, arrangements," he said quietly, "after all, no one knows yet that you have accepted my intentions. But they will begin to suspect."

She sat down on the edge of the sofa. He sat next to her, he had taken her hand and it rested in his on his thigh. It was a nice thigh she couldn't help but notice. "I agree, they'll begin to wonder." The way he looked at her and the sound of his voice combined to make it very clear to anyone with any experience that this man was going to do his utmost to woo her passionately.

She remembered their first night in the study, his voice almost a rough purr. Now he was such a different man from the dark form wreathed in shadows she had met with that night. He took care of her when she was with him. From the simple act of pouring wine or peeling fruit, or taking precautions with her safety when they were apart, he moved into her life and insisted upon treating her as if she were fine crystal. "What shall we do," she asked.

"For the sake of your work with Remington we shall have to let our business contacts know. You don't want them to feel that their work with you will be influenced by me, of course. But as far as people we know here, I think it would be better if we got it over with and told them."

She replied, "Javier will be happy."

He smiled in response, "Yes, that Spanish 'Romeo' will be pleased."

"Ah, but I think our 'Romeo' has met his match."

Erik had never known Javier to be serious about any woman, "Who?" he asked.

"Sophie Robillard," she replied. "Ever since the trip to Jumieges, he has been finding ways for Phillipe and Sophie to come to his parent's house."

Javier falling under the spell of Phillipe's sister was such a rich irony that he had to laugh. Emily watched his face transform. Other than the brief smiles he had given her of late, she had never heard him laugh before.

"Come, we should eat our dinner before it gets cold," he said. He held her hand to help her up from the sofa, and led her down the stairs.

In the dining room were two places set at the table covered by a snowy white linen tablecloth. A trio of candles flickered in a golden candelabra, and a small vase of red roses sat amid the covered dishes. Erik seated her where a single rose was laid upon the dinner plate.

"For me?" she asked.

He bent over her, his warm breath made her shiver. He inched his hand up her arm to join with hers as she held the rose. He lowered his face to her shoulder and turned slightly to place a kiss on her neck. Emily closed her eyes, helpless to even breathe as she felt his warm lips below her ear. "Yes," his voice slid over her skin like silk, "for you."

He reached out for the bottle and poured Calvados in her glass; the rich Norman Apple Brandy traditionally served with dinners. Uncovering dishes, they began their meal. Agnes had prepared Lamb in a sauce, with a side dish of shredded vegetables, potatoes and warm slices of bread. Norman cuisine relied heavily on sauces made with butter, cream and eggs. They loved their rich food, and considered dinning an all evening affair.

Erik watched her surreptitiously, enjoying the quiet conversation through dinner. Was this what it would be like when they married? Could he look forward to his days turning to evenings sitting quietly with Emily? "You shall be getting busy again soon. The next shipment of typewriters is due to arrive in two weeks." He raised his glass in a toast.

She raised hers in return, "To finding homes for the Remingtons. Hopefully this batch won't arrive _wet_ like the last ones."

He smiled archly. "I don't think we will have that problem this time." Not from what he knew of the gossip that Javier had picked up in his travels. Many of the local boat crews were impressed at his tenacity in finding out who damaged the boat, and his idea of making the men work off what they owed him. It was the sort of thing that hard working, hard living men would see as practical. It also served as a graphic example of how no one, regardless of position, could escape De La Shaumette.

"How soon will Alain Trahan be back in?"

"The middle of the week, they are coming in from Paris. Why do you ask?"

"While I was on the boat with him, he talked about photography. I exchanged a few favors with Madame Pinson to get an older camera that the newspaper is replacing."

"That is generous of you, Emily. Cameras are still a rarity. I hope you didn't have to promise too much to her."

"Not really. She wants to have me as a guest at a local club to give a talk about living in America. It seems they are mostly history buffs. And the camera, well, it's the least I can do for stabbing him with a hat pin and trying to escape," she replied.

He smiled slowly, "You wouldn't get away from me that easily."

She felt a blush start to warm her cheeks, Thunderation, but he made everything sound so intimate!

"Are you blushing, Madame?" He rose slowly, tossing his napkin down like a gauntlet.

Oh my. This is how the kiss on the canal boat had begun, when he had seen her blush, a body's reaction that could not be controlled or easily covered. She hastily grabbed her napkin from her lap and pressed it to her mouth. She didn't realize that the stark ivory color of the linen only served to highlight the rosy color of her flesh.

She watched almost helplessly as one of his hands grasped her wrist bringing her to her feet while the other snatched the chair back away from her. His face was suffused with an arrogant look; his eyes glittering emeralds. She felt his hands on her waist, slowly circling to her back and pulled her closer to his body. His lips came down close to hers; she shut her eyes, expecting to feel them any moment.

Erik paused, barely above her. He watched her lids flutter closed, and smiled. Oh yes, Emily, he thought, fall under my spell once again. Tenderly he brushed a kiss on her lips; pulling back he began again, starting at the corner of her mouth with soft kisses. When he had worked his way to the opposite corner he paused again, looking at her face. "Say my name," he whispered huskily, his hands ran up and down her back until he went lower to her hips. He bent her physically backwards with his body, "Say my name, Emily," he commanded.

She took in a breath, her hands around his shoulders to steady herself. She felt as if she were floating. "Erik." One hand went to the back of her head and his lips came down onto hers, hungry and plundering. He made a noise in his throat and his arms around her constricted until she felt it was hard to breathe. He slowed and released her gently only to start again.

Abruptly he stopped; she took in a breath, and made a grab for the table with one of her hands that was suddenly free. He turned away from her muttering something under his breath. His hand moved to his mask.

"Are you alright," she asked.

"Wait here," he said in a stern voice. He shoved the kitchen door open so forcefully the candles on table guttered in the rush of air, disappearing without another word.

Emily placed a hand on her chest, her breathing was still unsteady. For the life of her she couldn't understand what had just happened. She brought the chair back to the table and sat down. Suddenly another sip of Calvados seemed appropriate. She reached across the table and retrieved the bottle.

On his way up the stairs, Erik tore the mask off his face and went to his water closet. Putting his back against the door, he leaned back his head and ran a hand over the mismatched planes of his face. During the kissing, the mask had shifted. It hadn't dropped off, but he felt the rush of panic when it had slid on his skin. He glanced down at it as it lay near the edge of the sink, its eye watching him. "Damn you," he took in a harsh breath, the knuckles of his hands standing out white as he moved to grip the edge of the cabinet, "you won't cheat me of this."

The ridge that served as an eyebrow seemed to climb in speculation as it gazed back at him. _Won't I,_ whispered the darkness.

Straightening, he saw determined eyes regarded him from the small shaving mirror, he shook his head. "Not this time."

Emily sat quietly waiting, picking up the rose and turned it in her hand. She heard him coming back down the stairs and waited until he entered to look up. He stood in the door, his posture rigid, and his expression closed and hard.

"Are you all right," she asked again quietly, offering a hand toward him. He came forward and grasped it almost painfully; he planted his other hand flat on the table leaning over her, his eyes boring into hers.

"Swear to me," he began in a jagged voice, "that you will never look at me without my mask."

She heard the anguish, and shut her eyes. Opening them again she said, "Oh, Darlin'."

"No," he grated out, "no, no! You must swear to me, Emily. On your life, on whatever you hold sacred." He stopped and dropped to one knee. He started again in a brittle voice, "I want it in our wedding vows. Before God, you will never try to take the mask off."

Why would she want to do that? In a flash of intuition, she knew why. He wouldn't extract that promise from her unless someone else had done it before. She took a deep breath and squeezed his hand hard. "Erik, I won't ever take the mask off," she said quietly. "I won't look unless you want me to."


	2. When?

**Chapter Two: When?**

She took a deep breath and squeezed his hand hard. "Erik, I won't ever take the mask off," she said quietly. "I won't look unless you want me to."

It was a question that was going to arise at one point or another, Emily thought. His trepidation at revealing his face to her was something that might change in time as they grew closer to one another. Someday, the mask would slip. She hoped when it did that he would understand that she could love him no matter what was underneath it.

He let her go and stood up stiffly, "I am sorry, I have ruined your evening."

Emily rose to her feet, "No, you haven't." She set a hand on his arm, "We have a lot to talk about."

He took a deep breath, "Not now, Emily," he shook his head. His emotions running riot between panic and desperation, he could not explain the mask now. He realized he was always evading her questions.

"Let's go upstairs," she said. "You've never played the piano for me."

Surprised, he looked at her intently, "What do you wish to hear?"

She smiled slowly, "You know the one about the bar maid and the ploughman?"

"Emily," he realized with growing shock the song she was suggesting was a terribly vulgar rhyme that was usually a favorite in taverns. "Where have you heard such a song?"

"Oh, here and there," she drawled, she wouldn't tell him that Javier had taught it to her while they were on the boat.

She had done it again; her light hearted teasing had diluted the torrent of emotions. He brought her hand up from his arm and kissed it, "As my lady commands."

He led her back to the study, and set her in his chair next to the fireplace. He went to the bench, allowing the impulses of the music to flow out of his hands. As always, time ceased to hold sway over him. The tempo his hands beat out gave the music a heartbeat all its own. Where there was nothing before, an entity stirred, a soul expressed joy in the resonating sounds that emitted from the hammer struck strings.

Emily slid off her shoes and tucked her feet under her voluminous skirt. She closed her eyes and relaxed. He started with Liszt; teasing and playful, she recognized it at once and smiled. As it came to an end, he pushed on into another piece.

Sitting in the fireside chair across from the end of the piano, his right side was towards her. She could not read his expression through the mask. She could only watch him move as he played. He used the instrument as an artist would a brush, creating a world around them where the study once was. He pushed on through several pieces, as gently as a lover, and on to the movements of a man in the throes of some rapture. The music changed again and his body went tense, he stopped his fingers on the keys, the music floating away into silence.

He had started playing _Music of the Night_. He had to stop now. This was the song he wanted to seduce Christine with; to get her to trust him, to let go of the world as she understood it and see the world through his eyes. He had never pictured offering it to anyone else but her.

Could he play his music for Emily? She would understand the seduction, the passion in it. Would she understand that he had loved another woman; that these songs were written for the way he felt about Christine? Would he be betraying Christine's memory if he gave them to Emily?

His demented mind had seen Christine's turning to Raoul as a betrayal. He realized later that there would have to be a relationship to betray. She had loved the Angel of Music as a mentor; she had not fallen in love with the Demon that lived in the darkness.

"Emily," he said quietly, turning to her. "I've spent a considerable amount of my life in darkness."

She waited, feeling the unwavering intensity in his eyes. He got to his feet and came to the chair; kneeling down before it, resting his hands on the arms. "I lived in Hell and thought myself an angel." He paused searching her eyes, "What do you see when you look at me?"

"I see a man," she said simply.

"Is that what your vaunted female intuition tells you?" he teased.

"Ah," she raised her eyebrows. "Now if you are asking the Madame about her intuition, you better be careful what you ask for."

Dread crawled up his spine. "Why?" He thought of what they had talked about, maybe Javier had told her things. What could she have learned so quickly?

"Because you've already been upset once tonight, and I don't like seeing you upset." She reached out and traced a finger under his chin, "one step at a time, Darlin'." She smiled, "And because my carriage will be back in ten minutes to take me home."

He thought about the box in his pocket, the necklace to match the earrings he had given her. He'd let it wait for another time. He had wanted the evening to be perfect, not nearly ruined by the mask.

She moved her feet under her dress, and he saw that she had taken her shoes off. She lifted her skirt enough to reach to put them back on, when he picked up a shoe and took her foot in his hand. He guided her foot into the shoe, leaving it resting on his thigh. He'd never really paid attention to women's feet before. A perfect architectural arch, on which so much of the body's movement and support relied; a woman's foot was so small and deceptively light. She withdrew the foot, and he reached for the other, holding it in his palm for a moment.

She made a sound and he glanced up, "Be careful with that, I have very sensitive feet," she warned. She saw his lips move in a small smile and knew that she was in trouble.

"I'll remember that," he replied huskily as his hand guided the other shoe on, and started to slide up the back of her calf. He sat forward against her knees as his fingertips found the hollow behind her knee, eliciting the smallest gasp from her. "And that as well, _ma__charmenté,_" he whispered against her lips.

He got to his feet suddenly, and helped her up. "When is the next time I will see you," he asked, heading for the study door.

"I'm not sure," she replied. He hadn't stipulated 'alone.' "I'll stop by sometime this week, and we can compare appointments."

He stopped on the landing before the stairs, turning to her in feigned horror, "So, I am just an appointment, now?" He stepped towards her, his fingers brushed the back of her neck; he watched her eyelids flutter closed. Her mouth, he looked in fascination at her mouth. How long would it take for this feeling to leave: a month, a year, forever?

"N…No" she said, and giggled. "We really need to be downstairs."

He took her hand and led her down to the front hall. A small lamp burned in the parlor leaving the space before the door in shadow. He stopped before the door, waiting for the expected knock from the carriage driver. She moved to his side, her hands in one of his, resting against his arm. She liked this. Even beyond the fire from his kiss, the strong sure warmth of his body is what she missed when they parted.

Erik turned his head, resting his chin in the silk of her hair. She came willingly tonight, knowing that they would be alone together. She stood now, so trusting, so close against him. He still could hardly believe that she was here. This is what he had waited his whole life for, a woman who would open her arms and accept him. "Emily."

She felt his voice reverberate in her bones. Looking up in the dim light, the white mask hovered wraithlike between them.

"When will we know?" This was his first experience as a suitor, a prospective husband. How could he recognize when it was time to propose to her?

"In just a few seconds," she replied.

He was about to ask what she meant, and then there was a knock on the door. She stepped clear of the door so he could open it, but he kept her hands. "When?"

"When we both know the story," she replied.

He let go of her, and opened the door, standing in the dark behind it so the carriage driver wouldn't see him. The less people who saw the mask, the better.

* * *

Javier Fernandez rested his chin on his fist and watched Erik sign more papers, handing them to Phillipe Robillard. As Erik signed the last page, Javier stood to accept the paper from Phillipe. "I'll take the ones to the bank, Phillipe, if you want to take the rest over to the offices."

Phillipe nodded, "That would be perfect. I can get home early if I go past the legal office last."

Erik sat his pen back into the brass holder of the ink well. "One thing, gentlemen," he began. Both of his assistants paused, "I was going to inform you," he straightened his sleeve, brushing his cuff link, "of a little news."

Phillipe and Javier waited expectantly. Erik sat back, trying to look casual, "I was, ah, discussing things with Madame Griggs the other day." He folded his hands across his middle, why was the room so warm? "She and I," he made a careless open handed gesture, "are, ah, going to be seeing a lot of each other."

Javier and Phillipe continued to stare at their employer. Erik wanted to mentally kick the two of them, especially Javier. They must have guessed what he was trying to explain. Very well, he'd spit it out, "Madame has consented to my courting her." Noting the continued blank looks, he felt a bit disgusted with the younger men. "That is all," he snapped, he got out of his chair to snatch a ledger off of his bookshelf.

He heard the door close a moment later and turned back to toss the ledger onto his desk. They didn't seem surprised. In fact they had a look so blank they could have been lamp posts. Why did he even bother being embarrassed by having to tell them?

From downstairs came a whooping yell that would have served one of Emily's native Indians proud, followed by laughter. His lips slowly twisted into a smile. Evidently they weren't as unimpressed as they had appeared, the cretins.

* * *

Emily finished off the last of her coffee, quickly cleaning her cup and setting it beside the sink. She passed Perrine who was just leaving the apartment, and Olivia Fernandez who was pinning her thick, dark braid of hair into a coil on her head.

Mornings were a symphony of timing. They each arose a few minutes apart, taking turns in the bath, eating breakfast, and tidying beds. The girls were usually on their way downstairs for their trip to the mill as Emily checked the apartment, gathered her supplies, and locked up. As the girls filed out, their landlady Madame Sablon would come out to the front steps and bid them a good day as she swept her stoop clean.

"Good Morning, Madame. Do you have a renter for the third floor now?" Emily asked.

The woman regarded her for a moment. "No, there is no one there."

Emily felt the hairs on her neck prickle, "But, I thought I heard someone dragging something up the stairs yesterday."

"Oh, maybe my husband took something up," she said turning her attention to the front stoop.

Emily thought it was odd that someone would use a vacant apartment for storage. Maybe with the second floor rented to them, Madame wouldn't need the money.

* * *

At a Paris jewelry shop, an assistant held the door open for the couple who had just arrived. The elder gentleman was short and rotund, with a tiny grey mustache and a sparse head of grey hair. The woman he handed down from the carriage was a vision of Aphrodite herself. The assistant gaped as the couple passed him.

He leaned around the door to watch the woman. Her stately posture proclaimed her a queen, but the amazing play of her bustle moving with the sway of her hips pronounced her a woman of another sort. She had delicate, pale skin with shinning green eyes, and the most sinfully dark hair he had ever seen. It was easy to tell how this woman had captured the attentions of Monsieur Vouvray, a most eligible and influential man about the town.

The couple was led into a private room, the assistant followed, his eyes moving back and forth in time with the woman's bustle. He stopped short of the room, and closed the door.

Inside the woman took off her gloves, her slender fingers played over the surface of her gentleman's knee. "Why are we here, my dearest?" she asked in a breathy voice.

"My love, I wanted you to pick out your engagement ring. I know how particular you are about your diamonds," he replied.

The gemologist and owner of the shop came in followed by two young men who laid out two large black velvet cases. With a flourish the owner sent them away, and opened the cases for the couple.

"Oh my," she said, dropping a hand to the low cut front of her dress which revealed the soft ivory mounds of her breasts. She let her fingers slowly trial down and reached across to run her fingers over the surfaces of several rings. Under the small veil that dipped from the front of her hat, she studied both men. She sat forward a little; two sets of male eyes watched how her rhythmic shallow breaths swelled her bosom to strain against the tight bodice of her dress. She took a deep breath and repeated, 'Oh my!"

She went through the motions of trying on the rings, deciding upon one that fit too tightly, her fiancé asking when they could return to pick up the resized ring. "We could have it tomorrow afternoon," the shop owner said.

She twisted in her seat and leaned over M. Vouvray's arm, "Oh, but my love, I have to get my fittings done over the next two days. Perhaps at the end of the week?" The shop owner watched the way that magnificent bosom moved against her gentleman's arm. It suddenly felt very warm in the shop, and he glanced at their faces, as rapturous as teenagers.

"Alright, my dearest, we shall return on Friday." He patted her hand fondly.

He arose to shake hands with the shop owner and agreed on the time of their appointment. As the men talked, she looked once again at the rings. By Friday she would walk out of this shop with a stunning diamond ring on her finger, and three more in her bag next to the train tickets.

Like a cloud passing the face of the sun obscures a shadow, Kate Manning as she appeared today would fade away. In her place would be the woman named Annie Reilly.

The rings she would replace during her next visit would be taken apart, the gold melted down and sold, the diamonds moved on to a _receiver _who would act as a middle man who would contact a fence to sell the gems. The money would find its way to her boss, who had already lined up her next mark in the next town.


	3. Mr Kennard

**A/N: ** I will be on vacation next week, so the next update will be in two weeks!

**Chapter Three: Mr. Kennard **

Stepping down onto the deck of the canal boat, Emily saw Giles Charbonneau coming to the cabin door, "Madame Griggs, how are you?"

"Fine, Giles." She looked him over. The last time she had seen him he was fashionably dressed. Now he sported one of the pairs of blue pants favored by the dock workers, and a plain smock like shirt. "How is river life?"

"We did well the last two runs. We've actually pulled ahead on what we owe De La Shaumette, and might get done early. Look," he said stretching out his hands, "I've actually got calluses."

"I'm glad to hear you are doing so well. How is Blaise doing?" Giles and Blaise Gaultier had hired Alain Trahan to help them run contraband to make enough money to buy one of Blaise' Father's boats. Alain had accidentally damaged the boat Emily arrived on, setting in motion De La Shaumette's investigation that led to the men working for him to repay the damages. It had all been done because of Blaise' need to provide drugs for his addicted sister Phalene Gaultier, keeping it secret from her Father.

"He's at home right now; we go see Phalene when we can. Her father keeps her at home. They tried sending her to the Marchand Sanitarium, but found one of the orderlies there had snuck in some drugs to her."

"Oh, no," Emily interjected. Coming off of the drug would be hard enough on the girl, and the thought of her secretly finding more drugs would make every attempt to clean her system harder. "I'm so sorry, Giles."

He gave a shrug, "It's not your fault, Madame. Truly, she would have kept going until she would have died from the Opium if you hadn't come along. I'd like to thank you for that."

"I really hope she can make it, Giles. From what I understand it is difficult, and the need is there for years after the person gets rid of the drugs."

"Blaise and I will watch over her," he replied simply.

Emily wondered if Phalene Gaultier knew how much these men loved her. She hoped the girl would have a chance to find out. "I came by with something for Alain."

"Ah, come on to the hold," he motioned her towards the back of the cabin. "He's just doing a little repair."

Lifting her skirt, she followed Giles down the steep ladder into the lower deck of the boat. She'd been in a hold like this before, with the water swirling about her knees as they pulled the Remington typewriters she was shepherding to France to safety.

"Look who's come to see us," Giles called out.

Alain Trahan's blonde head popped up from behind a crate. "Madame Griggs," he called. Dropping his tools, he came over to them offering a hand.

Emily shook his in greeting and told him, "I brought you something."

A few minutes later a bemused Giles Charbonneau stood by Emily on the dock as Alain Trahan sat open mouthed, turning the camera in his hands. "Oh, Madame, thank you so much."

"It's the least I could do for stabbing you with my hat pin, Alain."

He waved off her comment, "It wasn't that bad."

"No, but Martin's temper might have been," she reminded him.

"You know that man," Giles asked in a surprised tone.

"Yes, I've met him," Emily replied. "He does work for De La Shaumette."

Giles crossed his arms over his chest, "I think he works for himself. He probably does jobs for De La Shaumette when he wants the cash."

Alain agreed, "I just hope you don't meet up with him again, Madame."

Emily smiled, "He was nicer to me. But then, I do wear a skirt." Alain and Giles found that extremely funny. Emily looked down at her feet then up at the two men, "I will be too busy to meet up with Martin again, the Monsieur has asked to court me."

After accepting effusive congratulations form the men, Emily left. In a few days the news of De La Shaumette's intentions toward his American protégé would race through Rouen like wildfire.

* * *

Emily and her roommate Perrine stood with their arms folded looking at the box on their small kitchen table. Turning her head, Perrine said, "Well it isn't more roses."

Emily gently picked it up, one hand underneath it, "It's too heavy to be jewelry."

"Unless it's in another box of some sort," Perrine put in. "It didn't rattle, though, so I doubt it is jewelry."

Emily's eyes grew large, "You shook it?"

Perrine looked uncomfortably back at Emily, "No, Cherie! I just noticed when I took it from Madame Sablon that it didn't make any noise."

Emily pursed her lips. "Well it's very small to be chocolates, and too heavy."

Perrine sighed. "Open it! You won't know what it is until you open it, Emily."

It had been three days since she had gone to dinner at De La Shaumette's house. Every day that he did not see her, he sent something. The first day was a note and a rose. The second was a small box of chocolates, and now, waiting to be opened was a small box secured with a ribbon. She picked it up and moved to sit on the sofa next to Perrine.

Emily undid the ribbon that secured the box top, opening it, she reached inside to find something smooth wrapped in paper. Lifting it, she saw it was an oval shaped Limoge porcelain box. Painted around the box were plants and on the top was a ladybug.

Opening the lid, there was indeed a note. Taking a moment to examine the delicate picture inside of more of the ladybugs, she sat the box in her lap and opened the note: _Ma Charmenté, I long to see you, Erik._

Looking at the box, Perrine asked, "When are you going to see him again?"

"We are supposed to have dinner together again tomorrow." She refolded the note and put it in the little box. She really didn't need to keep the note. All she had to do was listen to the voice she carried in her heart.

* * *

The summer air shimmered with the rising morning heat, and the smells of a wide variety of exotic flowers teased their noses as Emily Griggs and Sophie Robillard explored the Rouen Botanical Garden. Large trees had been planted to offer protection to the shade dwellers, and along the edges of the path a riot of stems hung heavy with single blossoms or large profusions of buds and flowers.

Tall palms made shadows like fingers over a pond where giant lily pads floated. "There is one of the fish I told you about," Sophie cried, motioning Emily over to the edge of the pond.

Leaning over slowly, Emily waited as a faint shape moved sinuously though the green water. Coming closer, the fish displayed scintillating golden scales, and with a flick of its tail, hid under one of the pads. Waiting patiently, Emily was rewarded as a stubby snout and two large dark eyes peaked at her from under the rim of the floating vegetation. "Oh, he's gorgeous."

"I certainly agree with you on that," Sophie replied.

Noting the wistful sound of her friend's voice, Emily straitened to see what Sophie was looking at. Coming up the path from the opposite direction was a tall man, dressed in a fashionable suit, sporting and bolo tie. He glanced at the women from under a hat fit for a riverboat gambler. Tipping his hat to them he smiled. "Mam'selles."

"Excuse me," Emily said in English.

He was dark haired, with warm brown eyes and an easy smile. "Are you English, Ma'am?"

"No, sir. I'm an American," Emily replied.

"Chase Kennard, Ma'am. Texas born and Texas bred."

"Emily Griggs," she replied offering her hand, "From Ohio, by way of New York, and now Rouen. This is Mademoiselle Robillard, her brother and I are employed together."

"I'm pleased to meet a fellow countrywoman and a flower of France." He smiled at Sophie, as Emily translated.

Noticing Emily looking behind him, Chase turned, "May I introduce Monsieur Henri Capegon, my interpreter while I'm here in France."

"It's Madame actually." She shook hands with Henri. He was middle aged, with the sort of demeanor that said he was not a man who was easily surprised. "I work with the French liaison for Remington." Noting Chase's interest she added, "Typewriter's, not firearms."

"Are you the lady from the papers with the guns?"

"Yes, they allowed me to bring in a Remington rifle and shotgun. I also brought a pair of Colt pistols."

"Well now, if you wouldn't be adverse to swapping stories and sharing some grub, I'd sure like to take you to dinner, Ma'am. We have quite a few things in common, you see I brought along one of my favorites with me this trip, a Colt Walker."

Emily's jaw almost hit the floor. "You're not sassin' me are you? An honest to God Colt Walker?" The Walker pistol hade been specially designed for the Texas Rangers and was the most powerful pistol ever made. "What sort of work do you do?"

"I work for the Pinkerton Detective Agency," he replied.

"Oh, you definitely have a dinner partner, Mr. Kennard," she replied. She had read western novels about the exploits of the Pinkertons. They were reputed to be fearless, relentless, and thoroughly successful in fulfilling their assignments to bring down some of America's most hardened criminals and gunfighters.

* * *

Erik sat at the desk going over the projected shipments that Phillipe was working to secure from a local Porcelain manufacturer. "Monsieur Dugast wanted to know if you were interested in upping the insurance coverage for the porcelains," Phillipe asked.

While Phillipe had a good grasp of business, he was still a neophyte at the cargo hauling business. "What do you think?" Erik asked. He was interested in how Phillipe might view the situation. Since Madame Griggs arrival, there were times when Phillipe had been left in control of the daily business affairs. This might be another opportunity to give Phillipe a lesson.

"I think it is adequate coverage at this point. If the manufacturer were to increase the number of them shipped each shipment, I would think it better to increase it."

"True. What I would advise the manufacturer is to simply press for more frequent shipments of the same size. That way the costs for insurance passed to him are the same, and we have a steady cargo run to make. Also, since the crates are sturdy, we might be able to place a lighter cargo on top. The steady and more frequent run would make it available for a lot of other customers."

"I see. We haul more, and his costs stay fixed." Phillipe agreed.

From downstairs Erik heard Agnes' voice, and an answering female one. "Excuse me, Phillipe, I shall return."

Heading down to the kitchen he was brought up short at the kitchen door by the sight of Emily wearing an apron and rolling out a pastry. Her flour dusted hands guided the rolling pin, enlarging the pastry. "Madame," he asked, "what are you doing?"

She looked up and smiled, "Getting ready to fill the crust for a tart for dinner."

Erik watched as she finished smoothing out the circle of dough, rolled it loosely over the pin, lifted it and unrolled it over the waiting tart pan. "Why?" He'd asked her to come to dinner again, but had not expected her to come and cook it as well.

"Agnes was going to teach me how to do the Pâte Briséepastry. So I came early to learn, and help cook our dinner."

He watched for a moment as she pressed the crust along the inside of the dish, then took a bowl and started pouring the contents of it into the waiting shell. This was a side of Emily that he had no experience with.

Erik knew that she had been raised on a small farm on the fringes of a town in a province called Ohio. She had mentioned barns and dancing; she must have some experience with animals and crops and housekeeping as well.

Through Agnes he had learned the routines people performed to upkeep a home and prepare food. His own experiences within a home were disjointed memories of his Mother performing tasks, or dressing him. At the Opera he had stolen foodstuffs from people when he first arrived, then later learned to purchase what he could to make his own meals.

Food was a tedious necessity. He skipped eating when he was busy working, sometimes not realizing that a headache that interrupted his compositions was brought on by thirst or hunger. Often times, it seemed like a weakness to stop to forage around the grotto for what might be still edible. In a fit of pique at the waste of time and energy involved, he would bundle up in a disguise, retrieve some cash and make for a store to purchase more food.

Agnes sat at the end of the kitchen's table, a glass of lemonade in her hands, "She's learning quickly, Monsieur," she told him.

Erik would have much rather preferred that Emily had come to the study to see him, but decided that this was probably something that she wished to do, so he would leave her to it. After all, he would have her all to himself after Agnes and Etienne left. With that, he told her, "I'll see you when it's time for dinner then," and departed after she looked up and flashed him a smile.

After she arranged the slices of Camembert and florets of broccoli in the tart, she slid it in the oven, and sat down across from Agnes to take a sip of lemonade. Agnes crossed her arms on the table and said, "I want to hear everything."

* * *

Emily climbed the stairs, he was playing something on the piano, it sounded lovely. Reaching the door she knocked softly, and heard him bid her enter. Peaking around the door, he sat at the piano, the mask turned towards her. He lifted a hand to her.

Coming forward, she asked, "What is that called?"

"All I Ask of You," he replied taking her hand.

"It's a lovely tune."

"Yes, it is." He had hated it.

_He saw a rooftop from the shadows, a light dusting of snow falling on the figures of Christine and her young man. I gave you …. She had taken the rare jewel he offered_ _and treated it like so much dross, a token forgotten by a faithless woman. As she had dropped the rose that night, she had cast away his hopes._

_You will curse the day… Moving under the cover of shadows, the biting pain of her duplicity threatened to push him to commit something terrible, something irrevocable. He had let them leave, the rational part of his mind warning him not to unleash the rage that built inside him. He'd gone back to the quiet retreat of his home, letting loose the fury on the things around him. He'd rent, smashed and shredded things with his bare hands, feeling the blood oozing between his fingers to drip from his wrists._

_Straining for breath he had moved to stand before the manikin. He stared at it until his eyes grew dry and the blood slowed, his hands relaxed. _

"_Don't be angry, angel," she said._

"_Why? You betray me Christine, at every turn you betray me." He knew why, she had seen his face. She would have learned to love him if she had not seen his face._

"_I love you my angel," she said._

"_You don't know what you've done, do you?" He stepped forward and grabbed her by the throat. "You lie to me, you always lie to me!"_

"_Erik…No,. Don't..." she begged._

"_I'm not Erik," he bellowed. "Erik is a disgusting, ugly little troll who doesn't deserve to live. I'm your Angel, Christine, the Angel of Music. I gave you your voice."_

"_Erik, please…"she whimpered._

_The sightless eyes held no trace of Christine: not the adoration, not the fear, not the love as she looked at her young man. He dropped his forehead against hers, letting his hands slide away from her, "I'm your Angel," he said in a pleading voice._

"Come on, our dinner is waiting."

Erik arose from the bench and turned to her, Emily could see something dark moving on the currents of his thoughts in the depths of his eyes. What is it? What were you seeing, she longed to ask. What is it that cost you so much that it haunts you still?

Erik stepped around the bench and took hold of both of Emily's arms. She looked up with questioning eyes. The eyes of a woman who looked at a man she could love.

"Suddenly, I am quite hungry," he told her.


	4. Female Whims

**Chapter Four: Female Whims**

Erik arose from his chair, "Would you care for an after dinner Brandy?

"I'd like a Kir actually," Emily replied.

"That was delicious, Emily. You do know that we will have servants. There is no need for menial work."

"It's not menial if it makes you happy. Cooking is more than preparing food for eating; it means people will come together to talk, and to relax together. Haven't you ever noticed how many holidays revolve around food?"

His exposure to holidays was watching other people enjoy celebrations together. Their gaiety left a bitter taste in his mouth, an emptiness inside of him.

Getting the drinks, they went to the study. He had guided her to the sofa, unbuttoning his jacket as she sat down.

"I met an American today when Sophie and I went to the Botanical Gardens. His name is Chase Kennard, and he's a Pinkerton agent. Have you heard of them?"

Taking a sip of his Brandy, the burning sensation of the alcohol could not displace the cold he felt inside. A man. She'd met a man. And not just any man, but an agent of a group who was reputed to be the equal of England's Scotland Yard or France's Sûreté. He kept his voice even, "I read something not long ago about them. Aren't they the men who are hunting down fugitives in your American west?"

"Most people picture them as cowboys, but they are quite a sophisticated group. They've become international now that Pinkerton has established offices in Europe."

"So, what did you and this agent speak of?"

"Not much, but we plan on having dinner on Thursday. He read one of Hugette Pinson's articles about the guns, so he had heard about my coming over and bringing the Remington's."

"And Monsieur Colt," he added.

"Yes, and he's brought along Monsieur Colt's big brother."

Erik was once again out of his depth when referring to guns. "What do you mean big brother?"

She smiled at him, "I mean the man carries a Colt Walker. They are the heaviest and hardest hitting pistols in the world. The name comes from a Captain Samuel Walker who helped Colt design the gun for the Texas Rangers. They are almost legendary."

She seemed inordinately happy about this turn of events. "Are you Americans planning to take the brothers to dinner as well?" he quipped.

Emily smiled slowly at the tone of his voice. She knew how he felt about the guns. "No, Darlin', we won't be packing when we go to dinner."

First there were bags for cats and now bags for guns? "_Packing_. Is that another of your American expressions?"

"Oh yes. You can pack heat, sling lead or fill your hand with a cannon," she delivered her expressions with Midwestern inflections in her voice.

"A cannon," he repeated wryly. "How utterly captivating."

"Don't worry; Henri Capegon is going with us. He's Chase's interpreter. He'll make sure we behave in the restaurant." She took another sip of her drink. "I'll stop by and tell you all about it."

Keeping his voice deliberately casual, he asked, "Does this agent work in Rouen?"

"I don't know. I only know that he's anxious to talk to another American."

"We haven't had the chance to talk about America." It was one of only a myriad of subjects he wanted to talk to her about. He interlaced his fingers with hers, stroking one slowly with his thumb.

She gave his hand a squeeze. "That's part of the ritual."

"What ritual would that be?"

"Well, courtship of course. When people court, they go out for walks, and sometimes there's sitting on the front porch and talking, and of course there might be dances or something of that nature. So ours, so far, revolves around talking at dinner."

"There is a grain of truth to that," he conceded. "But it is also our only chance to be alone." He continued to rub his fingers along hers.

She groaned, "No one knocking at the door."

Erik raised her hand to his lips, placing a light kiss upon it, "No interruptions." It sounded like heaven.

"There is the boat you know."

Erik was alert to the implications of her statement. "I have to be seen as Martin," he replied. Looking at her, he had to ask, "You aren't suggesting you find that ruffian preferable to me are you?"

Emily was surprised at the look of offended dignity on his face. "You're talking about yourself, you know."

"No, I'm not," he groused. "You cannot make me believe you prefer that disheveled creature to me." What on earth had possessed her? She couldn't compare the two men and honestly find that river rat preferable to him.

She found this odd, but she also found it funny. "Erik, they are both you. I don't know why you find it so hard to believe I could be attracted to Martin."

He took in a deep breath before he began, "Are you telling me you're attracted to that man?"

Emily was struggling in earnest not to burst out laughing. "Um. He was the one who kissed me first." Watching the hardening line of his mouth, she realized she probably shouldn't have brought that up. She placed her drink on the floor next to the sofa. "Erik?"

He launched himself off of the sofa, setting his glass on the mantel above the fireplace he turned to her. "Yes, he did. But which one of us would you prefer?"

"Oh, lord," she said in English.

He held up a hand, "No cheating, Emily. I want your answer in French."

She got up from the sofa. "You," she pointed at his chest, "are talking as if I have two suitors." When he gave her no reply except to look down his nose at her, she added, "I can't tell you that."

He crossed his arms over his chest, "Can't, or won't?"

"You aren't two separate men. I don't compare you two to each other." Good lord, now she was sounding as if she were separating Martin and De La Shaumette.

"Forget that," he waved her comment aside. "Whose kisses do you prefer?"

"Why would I prefer one to the other?" She shook her head, "Are you jealous?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Emily. I couldn't be jealous." That was a lie. He was angry because he believed she preferred that grotesque man. She couldn't like the way he looked with the black mask on; the mottled skin, the mismatched hairline.

She folded her arms in front of her, "Do you realize you are accusing me of being some sort of floozy?"

The last word was in her English. "Floo-zee?"

"You know, a woman who strings along more than one man." She dropped her arms and moved towards the piano. "You think I'm a floozy," she sat a hand on her hip.

He felt his anger turning into dread. She did not look like a happy woman. He cursed his own stupidity and busied his mind with finding a way to appease her. "I didn't say that. I merely asked which kiss you would find more desirable."

"Why would I find either one better than the other?"

He gave a dismissive gesture, "A female whim."

Emily blinked, her voiced lowered. "Did you just accuse me of female whims?"

He wasn't looking at her when he began, "Of course there are female whims." Turning, he realized he'd once again dug a deeper hole with his comment.

She arched a brow. "Sleep on the sofa." The room seemed to shrink as he took in a deep breath. Evidently he didn't care for that idea.

He stepped towards her, "I will not be sleeping on any sofa. I will be in my bed with my wife."

"Fine," she replied. "I'll sleep on the sofa. You know, one of those female whims I get."

"You will be in bed with your husband," he ground out with finality.

"Which one?" she taunted.

The argument could go on all night, but with all this talk of beds and wives, he preferred to show her, "This one." He came forward, pulling her into his body. She might have been opening her mouth to protest, but he smothered it as his mouth took hers.

God, there was something stirring about kissing her when she was angry; all of that passionate conviction behind their heated blood.

He'd heard snippets of conversations during his life in the shadows around people. Lovers were always insinuating, bragging. He'd been a youth, a slave to a changing body and confusing feelings when someone he overheard talked about sex when they were angry. Not ever being party to lovemaking, he couldn't understand the excitement in the woman's voice as she spoke. Standing here with Emily, the allure of siphoning off the energy of the anger into the bedroom made a tremendous impression on him. He'd definitely have to start an argument sometime.

There was kissing, and then there was kissing. Emily was glad he held onto her because this kind of kissing was threatening to leave her senseless. The man had been tentative and gentle before, but this was like throwing open a door and inviting in a tornado.

They stopped for a moment and she caught her breath. She didn't like to make comparisons, but William had never kissed her like this. She could feel all the longing in Erik's lips. Under that soft onslaught if he had asked her to marry him right then, she would be helpless to deny him.

Reverting to English she said, "I love you."

He held her, hearing her words echo through him, and an answering music rise within. He had already looked for the words in the dictionary, hoping some day to say it to her in all the languages he knew.

For the first time in his life, his heart felt as full as his arms. He knew that someone loved him.

There was no further need for words. He led her back to the sofa and sat with her in his arms until he was forced to let her go.

* * *

She felt a little tired after conducting her business today, but dressed for the dinner engagement she had made with Chase Kennard. Once she was finished with the last pins in her hair, she glanced down at the small Limoge box. Running a finger tip around the top she smiled. Sitting next to it was the latest of Erik's gifts to arrive at her apartment. Similarly painted, it was a vase shaped holder for hat pins.

You have to love a man with a sense of humor, she thought.

* * *

Chase Kennard sat back as the waiter poured their after dinner coffee. Madame Griggs had been an interesting dinner partner. She had chatted with Henri Capegon about what she liked about France. Chase asked her, "What do you miss from home?"

She looked around the restaurant. It was a beautiful room, highly polished parquet floors, architecture reminiscent of the Empire period, paintings gracing the walls, the soft candle lights on the table, the glow of gas sconces along the walls. "You know, I enjoy this." She motioned a hand around the room. "It's fantastic compared to Ohio, but I do miss home. So many little things are what come back to haunt you. The wild cats that moved into the barn with the old barn owl, Momma cooking cornbread, my sister playing the piano, watching my Dad bringing home catfish, I even miss my brothers, and Daniel and I used to be at war constantly."

Chase smiled, "Yes, I miss things like that too. Things that give you a place in the world that you didn't even know existed. Sarsaparilla and a glass of Sangaree, corn on the cob and cornbread. These people just don't know what they're missing without cornbread."

"Where are you from Henri?" she asked.

"I was born in Paris. My father traveled, so we moved several times, but I returned to Paris when I could. It seemed the most likely place to be employed as an interpreter."

"I'm quite fortunate to have found Henri," Chase added. Not only was Henri accomplished in the English language, he also had a keen sense of detail, which enhanced their work together. Chase often told him he should have been a detective. "And you, Emily. How is it working with this De La Shaumette fellow?"

Emily found it interesting that Chase wanted to know about De La Shaumette. "It started off a bit slow, but we have worked well together. We're expecting the next shipment from Remington soon."

"We hear he has quite a reputation," Henri put in.

"Are you interested in cargo?" she asked. The conversation was turning away from the casual. She could feel it in her bones.

"In some respects," Chase answered, "it could help in our investigation." He sat forward and glanced at Henri Capegon. Evidently she had passed some test, because Chase went on, "I've been stationed here in France to track down the whereabouts of a group of American criminals. Herni and I are getting in touch with various shippers to have people keep an eye out for items that might lead us back to this group."

"And you want De La Shaumette Enterprises to keep an eye out as well?"

Chase picked up on the businesslike tone of her voice. It was time to lay the cards out on the table. "Yes. This group travels with a man named Ned Darlington; he's a master forger. Chances of finding him in France are as likely as finding the proverbial needle in a haystack. We're more likely to find some of the traces of his work as they pass through France. Finding that, we can trace back through the middle men to the contacts that were used to move the goods."

Emily though of the Penny Dreadfuls she had read, "You mean a _fence_."

Chase laughed. "Yes, Ma'am, there are fences but they hardly ever meet with the forger. Neither group trusts the other, so it's the middle men we're after, they are called _receivers_. They'll turn evidence quicker as they only get a small cut for moving things between the forger and the fence."

"Do you think some of De La Shaumette's crews are these middle men?" She remembered what Erik had told her about smuggling on the boats. Some of the crews moved contraband to supplement their incomes and most of the customs officers took their cut, or turned a blind eye as long as things were kept low key.

"They might be unwittingly. It's possible that the goods are really being put into crates and shipped legally."

Emily took a sip of her coffee, "I'd have to introduce you to George Dugast; he does most of the everyday work with the cargo manifests."

"Is there someone else we could deal with who will actually be on the boats?"

That was the loaded question. She could understand how Chase probably needed someone who would be closer to what was going on. But did she dare introduce him to Charles Martin-Erik's persona when he moved about?

Chase took out a card and slid it across the table. "This is where I can be reached."

Emily retrieved her bag and put it inside. "I'll see what we can do, Mr. Kennard."

* * *

Erik glanced at the mantel clock. The relentless march of the hands across the face slowed. She must be at her dinner with the Pinkerton agent now.

_She's with another man_, the darkness whispered.

He turned his head, seeing the reflection of the mask in the window glass. "Be gone you ugly pest," he replied. "Emily's with me."


	5. Potted Troubles

**Chapter Five: Potted Troubles**

Reaching the door at the top of the stairs, she knocked gently, and heard his voice. Opening the door, Emily saw he sat at his desk, ink pen in hand. He and Phillipe Robillard stood, nodding a greeting as she came into the room. Erik indicated the other open chair before his desk with a motion of his pen and Emily seated herself.

Erik had learned to gather a wealth of details in a short span of time. Like a passing glance at a portrait on wall, he noticed the color of her dress, her lack of a hat, and that she wore some sort of locket around her neck. More importantly, he always looked at her eyes. Emily's eyes were truly windows to the goings on in her soul. Her eyes never lied.

Erik put all of the signed papers into a folder and handed it over to Phillipe, "That will be all for today," he told Phillipe, who left saying goodbye to Emily. He turned his full attention to her as the door quietly closed. He asked, "How was your evening?"

"My dinner went well. But I needed to tell you about the information Mr. Kennard hopes to find."

Erik leaned back in his chair. He knew Emily well enough to know that she was uncomfortable about something. The darker part of him was relieved. Evidently her American companion had not been as charming a host as he had feared. "Tell me everything."

He listened, asking no questions, as she recounted the dinner she had had with Chase Kennard and his interpreter, Henri Capegon. "He wants any information about suspicious cargo dealings. I told him I could introduce him to George Dugast, but nothing beyond that."

"Very good," he approved. "We can keep an eye on what might come through, but I must admit that I am not comfortable with this man's questions."

"I'm not too sure about it either. I get the feeling he hunted down the information on me to arrange our little meeting at the Gardens." She rested her chin in one hand and asked quietly, "How do you people find me anyway?"

He could feel her frustration. "It isn't all that difficult, Emily. You have appeared in the papers, you have a list of clients that you deal with, you leave the instructions on how to contact you, and so he would be able to get an address." Erik opened his hands, "Most people are unaware of how easy it is because they do not go searching for other people."

"You did well though," he continued, "We can introduce him to Dugast and let Javier keep an eye on him." He didn't want to offer the services of the scarred man, his alter ego Charles Martin. If this Pinkerton agent lived up to the reputation his agency had garnered, then his proximity to Martin might make him wonder about De La Shaumette, another masked man. It would be bringing too much scrutiny to bear on the situation here. He could not risk being exposed as the Opera Ghost at this tenuous time in his relationship to Emily.

She still looked uncomfortable. He picked up the ledger from the desk, and slipped out a page from the newspaper. Offering her the paper he said, "Here, I kept this for you."

Emily's eyes locked on the paper, and then swung back to him, brows raised. She took the paper he offered, and found the story. Erik watched her eyes scan the lines and a smile appear. He was glad he could make her happy, but felt the twinge of jealousy at the fact the reappearance of her Sir Henry Dalrymple in the story was the source.

She seemed quite taken with Sir Henry. While Christopher Morriston was the one who loved the Baroness Liesl Von Rauffenburg, Sir Henry and Doctor Cosentino accompanied the pair across Europe, aiding the couple, and foiling the villains. Sir Henry was approaching middle age, educated, well spoken, in fine physical shape, and a lover of botanical studies. He often stopped along the way to indulge in a rose in England, a new tulip in Amsterdam, a rare orchid in a Russian hothouse, or a peony in a Chinese garden.

Emily was happy now. "The avalanche in the Alps didn't kill Sir Henry."

Erik smiled indulgently, this was one competition for Emily's affection he would allow. "Yes, your Sir Henry has survived again. Although, the Baroness is on the verge of getting herself in trouble already."

He had the oddest sense of déjà vu, as if he was seeing the future taking shape around him. Emily had arrived on a boat in jeopardy of sinking, and like her Sir Henry, he had risen to the challenge of sorting out what had happened. Now she sat bringing information about a detective and a gang of American criminals. Good Lord, he thought, _I am_ her Sir Henry.

Emily sat looking at Erik; an odd expression had formed on his face, as if he were seeing something about her for the first time. He had just said that the Baroness would be stirring up more trouble for Sir Henry. Oh, Thunderation. She'd just brought him news that might portent trouble for them. Good lord, she thought, I'm turning into the Baroness! "Henry," she said in a faint voice.

Getting up from his chair, Erik walked slowly to the edge of hers, offering her a hand. She took it, rising from her chair with an entranced look upon her face. "Zala," Erik replied. It was Christopher's pet name for the Baroness, and he was rather taken with the exotic sound of it himself.

Emily had that soft, surrendering look upon her face. Erik drew her closer in his arms, "Zala."

His lips closed on hers gently. For the ten thousandth time he wished someone had written a book on the intricacies of courtship. The pace he wished to set was far different from the respectable distance implied by articles he had found. To blazes with that, he'd much rather spend every free moment they had together like this.

He stopped as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Emily was still in his arms, "You know, Henry needs a door lock," she said lightly.

"But that would leave Zala at his mercy," his voice adopted that dark masculine sound like a great lion purring in his den.

The knock sounded at the door, and they stepped apart. Erik called for his visitors to enter. Javier Fernandez came in, his face lit when he saw Emily, "And how is our Madame," he asked.

"Fine, Javier," she replied. She resumed her seat when Erik nodded towards it; evidently he wanted her to stay.

"What have you to report," he asked Javier.

"Nothing much. Things are going as smooth as glass this week."

"Good," Erik replied, "because we now have a request from an American detective to keep an eye out for goods that might be hidden inside of our regular shipments."

Javier's smile melted, he glanced at Emily, "An American detective?"

Emily held up her hands, "Just because I'm an American doesn't mean I know him. It is a very large country after all. Sophie and I met him at the Botanical Gardens."

"Did she say anything to you about that meeting?" Erik put in casually.

"No. She didn't," Javier replied in an accusatory tone. He gave Emily a long look, "What does he look like?"

"I think the word we agreed on was gorgeous."

Javier didn't look happy. Emily glanced at Erik, and saw he didn't exactly look happy either. Well, he hadn't asked, and if he would have she might have told him. His expression said she had withheld something from him.

Emily glanced at the two of them, "For heaven's sake. Stop it you two." She didn't get denials, only sullen looks from the two men. She could accuse them of being jealous, but would no doubt start a row and the whole subject of Mr. Kennard would only get blown farther out of proportion. Both men sat with arms crossed over their chests looking like a pair of angry bookends.

"I have to be going," she said.

Erik didn't say a word. This was worse than Sir Henry; this was a fellow countryman and a gorgeous one at that.

Javier smoothed his mustache, his dark Spanish eyes gleaming as if they were carved from cold, wet, granite.

"I told them about our courtship," Erik muttered.

"Yes, congratulations," Javier retorted.

"Well, thank you." Emily tried to keep the disgust from her voice at the obvious lack of enthusiasm on their parts. If they were going to sit there and brood, she might as well get going. The only thing worse than a woman in a bad mood, was a man in one.

Coming around the desk, she placed a quick kiss on Erik's cheek, "I'll see you later, Darlin'."

"I'll keep an eye on him," Javier told Erik as the study door closed.

"The sooner we get this sorted out, the sooner he will leave Rouen," Erik put in.

"The sooner the better," Javier replied.

"I have another task for you as well," Erik went on. "Since Sophie went with Emily, perhaps she can assist you in doing some shopping for me."

Javier's brows went down, "Shopping?"

"Remember the shipments from the Mediterranean? They include plants, and I wish to send one to Emily."

Javier nodded with a smile. "Our pleasure, Monsieur."

After Javier left, Erik sat listening to the sounds of the street below the study window. You did so well, he told himself, don't start now. He wouldn't let the anger get a toe hold. He couldn't start worrying over what he couldn't control in her life. He refused absolutely to doubt Emily. She'd never given him a reason to doubt her feelings towards him. She'd even said 'I love you.'

Like the refrain from a beloved song, her voice floated through the room again. A warmth infused his body that had nothing to do with the hot July air that brushed the curtains aside. It was then that he realized, he hadn't said it back.

* * *

"He though Emily might like one for her apartment." Javier stepped into the warehouse door, holding it open for Sophie Robillard. Taking her arm he led her along the lines of crates farther into the building.

"They're stacked so high in here," she eyed the crates above her head. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"It can be, but the men are cautious. Its part of the job you have to learn." Javier enjoyed Sophie's company. She wasn't one of those women who demanded fancy meals with champagne, and wanted to have compliments heaped on them every moment. Although a little shy, Sophie never balked at going places and trying something new.

Coming to an open area on the floor, Sophie's eyes grew large when she saw the rows of potted palms. "Oh, they're lovely. Emily liked the trees and palms. I think it's because she lived around plants all her life."

Javier was watching her with a small smile. "Which one do you think she'd like?" He watched as she walked the perimeter of the pots, stopping here to glance at one, or there to brush an arcing limb of the soft fronds. Her graceful figure bent forward as she pushed a frond aside and peered at the rows behind.

Coming back she pointed at a tall palm, "That one."

"Very well, I'll pull it out and they'll send it to her building." Stepping up to the pot, he bent down and slid it out of the row so the warehouse men would find it.

"Javier, does he buy her things all the time?"

Surprised she asked he looked up. Brushing the dirt from the pot rim from his hands he stepped forward. "He's sent her a few small gifts."

"Oh," she said, seeming a little bemused.

"Is something wrong with that, Sophie," Javier asked.

"No, not at all. I'm just surprised," she replied lightly. As Javier took hold of her hand and guided her to the door she wondered how he felt about her. He'd taken her and Phillipe out to dinner, and introduced them to his family, but had not bought anything for her. Was he not interested in her in that way?

* * *

Spending a full day riding around Rouen in the van that was dropping off the newly arrived typewriters, Emily watched the traffic go by as she chatted with the driver. Talking to people was the best way to learn new things about the city. People were always eager to share where the best food was, or interesting out of the way places she had not yet visited were.

Arriving home, she opened the building's outer door and stopped inside the threshold. In front of her to her right was the staircase, on the left was the door to the Sablon family's apartment, and standing straight across from her in a nook was a potted palm.

The Sablon's door opened. "Madame Emily, look, look," cried Maxine Sablon. Accompanied by her wayward cat, Tiny Toes, Maxine skipped over to the plant. "It's for you."

The closer she stepped, the more she was dwarfed by the height of the plant. It must be nearly seven feet tall. "That man," she said softly shaking her head. She'd have to tell him to stop this. She really didn't need gifts sent to her everyday, and if he kept this up, she'd have to rent the whole building to contain his gifts.

Madame Sablon had joined her granddaughter, "I take it that this is also from Monsieur De La Shaumette?"

Emily smiled at her landlady. "Yes." She eyed the stairs, "I'll get someone to take it up out of your way."

"No hurry, Emily. It looks quite nice sitting there."

Maxine stepped forward, "Can I help you take care of it?"

"Of course, Maxine. You can remind me to water it." Emily pointed at the cat as she passed by, "Just keep Tiny Toes there from using it as a toilet."

Madame Sablon eyed the pot. Around the backside, she noticed a mark made in chalk. It was composed of a crescent intersected by a straight line. She'd have to let Monsieur Varlin know about this.


	6. The Coquillards

**A/N Happy Turkey day! Thanks for the reviews. **

**Chapter Six: The Coquillards**

Tossing the letters onto the desk that could wait for the morning; he stopped before his fireside chair. One of the notes had Emily's handwriting on it. _I need to see you. Nine o'clock? _Was that it? Was something wrong? Unconsciously he creased the paper in his fingers, dropping it in the waste can next to the desk. It was time for Charles Martin to take a walk.

Shoving his feet into his scuffed boots, Erik pondered the reasons why Emily had sent the note. He had Javier pick out the plant. Was something wrong with it? Failing that, maybe she had trouble with one of her new clients. No, that couldn't be it either; she would have waited and just come to see him when she could.

He glanced at his bedroom. It would be so much easier if she was here all the time. How long, Emily, he thought. She had said when they both knew the story. Their future rested on him. The onerous details of his previous life tumbled through his mind; where could he start, when could he start to tell her about the missing years.

Like an unbidden specter he could see her standing in the room, her hair down, her robe around her. She'd sleep in that bed. They would be making love in that bed. Beyond any certainty, he wanted her there. He'd read that married couples had separate bedrooms, to blazes with that. His wife would sleep next to him. The question was how soon.

* * *

From the dying evening light, he watched Emily's building. Checking his pocket watch, he was fifteen minutes early. Watching a carriage go by he waited until he saw Emily appear at the front door. He got up and joined her on the stoop.

She smiled at him and motioned him inside. Stopping inside the door, he knew exactly what she was going to say. Across from them was an enormous potted palm. He pursed his lips and gave her a quick glance.

That teasing smile tugged at her lips. "Stop this; you don't need to send me things all the time. I think about you."

Erik thought that was heartening, "You do?"

"Of course I do," she would have added 'you silly man'. What was she supposed to do, forget him the minute she walked out the door? She glanced passed the door to see if anyone was out on the street, then planted a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, Monsieur."

"You're welcome, Madame, I…"

She glanced pointedly at the street and stepped back into the building closing the door.

Turning, he saw a young couple coming up the street. "Love you?" he said to the door.

The little monkey had the nerve to wink as she strolled up the stairs to her apartment.

* * *

"It has the mark on it."

"It was dropped off today?"

"Yes. She wasn't expecting it; it's a gift from a gentleman."

"Be that as it may, we will have to keep an eye on it. Let's hope she doesn't go exploring in the pot. I can have Pidou get the bag out later." He tapped a finger on the window sill. "This could get complicated."

"I have a suggestion," she ventured.

"Yes?"

"She works for De La Shaumette. We could talk to the scarred man."

"Yes," he agreed, "I'll talk to him." He buttoned up his coat and retrieved his hat.

* * *

Erik sat in the dimly lit booth at the back of the tavern; an occasional nodded greeting came from a passerby. He saw the man enter, order a drink, toss it down and then leave. After a respectable wait, he tossed down sous for the drink and followed the man out.

Stopping at the end of the street, the man took out a key and entered a store. Another turn around the block, and the pedestrians found their way elsewhere. Erik walked to the door and entered. He walked to a chair the man indicated.

"What do you need?" Erik asked. The man was short and barrel chested. His hair and mustache were iron grey; his dark blue eyes held a steely look. Erik knew him as Varlin.

"We have a little problem with De La Shaumette's Madame Griggs."

Erik could feel the surge of tension in his body, "What do you mean?"

"She got a plant today. The pot is marked, Martin. It's one of ours."

Oh hell. Of all the gifts he could have given her, he just gave Emily a pot that was carrying stolen goods. "If she tells anyone it would be me or De La Shaumette. She trusts him to take care of things."

"But what will he say? We don't want the police involved. We're having enough trouble as it is." Varlin told him, "You've heard there's a Pinkerton agent in town?"

Erik wiped a hand over the unmasked side of his face. "Yes, I heard. Is what's in this plant what he's looking for?"

"No," Varlin waved a hand. "This is one of ours. But if those damned Americans find it they'll make it disappear!"

"Send someone for the goods before she finds it, Varlin," Erik warned.

"I'm having a man stop by in the morning." The man considered the scarred man for a moment. "If she gets involved I'll have to hand her over."

Varlin heard the edge in Martin's voice, "We'll take care of it."

"You sure, Martin?"

"I'm positive. She leaves things like that to 'Shaumette. He's courting her right now."

Varlin perked up, "You're joking. I've heard the man is an absolute bastard."

Erik smiled, "His temper can blister the paint off of walls. He makes me look tame."

Varlin gave a great bellow of laughter. "All right. I trust you to take care of this between you and your boss."

"Tell me what you know about the Americans," Erik asked.

Varlin's tone became acerbic, "They have a really good forger on board. The boss is named Sterns, and he has two men that run his errands and do his receiving work. There also is a woman who he has running confidence scams on the side."

"What if this Pinkerton agent finds them?"

"Poof, they disappear from France, and we are all a lot happier," Varlin answered.

"Would it placate you if I gave this agent some help to get rid of the Americans," Erik asked.

Varlin considered him a moment. "We could be happy with that. You take care of them, and we'll forget about Madame Griggs."

"I want one for her," Erik told him.

Varlin reached into a vest pocket, he offered a small white shell in his upturned palm. Taking it, Erik put it in one of his pockets. That tiny covering that once served as a home for a mollusk was a token to ensure Emily would be safe.

* * *

Going back to his home, he stopped in the kitchen to make a cup of tea and went back to his desk. The small shell sat gleaming on the blotter of his desk in the light of the gas lamps.

Centuries ago, a criminal syndicate known as the Coquillards, the shell people, appeared in Dijon. Skilled in all forms of larceny, they excelled at lock picking and assassinations. It was believed that one of the French Kings felt a little uncomfortable after one of those famous assassinations, and had them hunted down and wiped out. Being the well orchestrated group they were, they sacrificed a few members and spread out over the rest of France. They had been living among the population, carrying on their nefarious work ever since in small family groups. He was not certain how many families lived in Rouen, but suspected Varlin to be the boss.

Truly, he and Emily would survive longer if they didn't learn anymore about the Coquillards. He'd give the shell to Emily tomorrow. Once the small talisman was in her possession, the Coquillards would back off and leave her alone.

He was involved now. Like a juggler he would have to balance the Coquillards, the Pinkerton agent, and the American crooks, while keeping Emily busy elsewhere. That innocuous potted palm had just made his life much more difficult.

* * *

Emily sat down on a kitchen chair and chatted with Agnes Bardou. "He sent for me again. I wonder what for."

Agnes shrugged. "I can never guess." She gestured towards the door, "Some days this place is like sitting at the train station." She waved her hand, "In, out, in, out. Doors slamming, feet running up and down the stairs, and then, voila. It all stops and the silence is so thick you could slice it like a block of cheese."

Agnes took a pan out of the oven and lifted off freshly baked lemon tarts. The scent off of the little pasties made Emily's mouth water. "Have one, Cherie," Agnes told her. "I always make enough of these for everyone to have some. Monsieur Fernandez loves these."

Emily carefully scooped up one of the tarts, blowing on the pastry, "Is he here as well?"

"He was. He might be back, I don't know. Usually Etienne and I just sit and watch all the activity around us. We'll find out in good time if there is anything we need to know."

"Do Javier and Phillipe tell you much?"

She smiled serenely, "They do if I tell them I made these." With that, she popped one of the pastries into her mouth.

* * *

Erik told Etienne to retrieve Emily from the kitchen. He would normally be excited to see her, but not this time. It was going to be a repeat of that argument they had had. He could feel his frustration mounting. She'd not be happy to be limited to cabs again, but he had to keep her busy and well away from what he was going to have to do.

She came to the door, a small plate in her hands. "Agnes sent these up."

He caught the waft of lemon as he circled behind Emily and closed the door. "We need to talk, Madame."

Oh, this should be good, she thought, putting the plate on his desk. He was using those clipped businesslike tones. Something was going on.


	7. New Associates

**A/N: The crimes described in the chapters of this story are factual. The names of the criminals have been changed to protectany remaining family members. Enjoy. ****  
**

**Chapter Seven: New Associates**

"Emily, you remember how I asked you to take the cabs when I was worried for your safety?"

"Yes," her reply was pregnant with questions.

He steeled himself for the approaching storm. "I want you to do it again until I tell you to stop."

She nodded, "All right."

Erik felt as if the rug had just been pulled out from under his feet. She hadn't gotten angry, she had agreed. "All right," he repeated.

"Yes. I'll do it if you want me to."

This was way too easy. "You aren't just agreeing with me are you?"

Bemused by his question, she replied, "Didn't I just agree with you?" She thought she was sounding like an echo. "Aren't I supposed to agree with you?"

Erik sat his hands on his hips and looked down at her. "I will never understand women," he muttered.

Emily's eyebrows shot upward. "Did I hear you correctly?"

She was using that tone of voice that made Erik want to pick her up and shake her. "Oh no," he warned, lifting a hand. "You aren't getting out of this one just by acting offended. You will take cabs, Madame!"

Emily closed her eyes as his voice rose and started counting. She tried again in a reasonable voice, "I said I would, Darlin'."

Erik wasn't going to be placated by her reply. "I mean it, Emily. Don't tell me that you agree because you think I want to hear it. You have to take cabs again."

"I am not saying that just because you want to hear it." Lord knows, men were always the ones that needed to hear something. Why was that?

"I told you what I wanted you to do, and you're agreeing with me." His voice was growing louder. Wait, Erik thought, was that correct?

She wondered for a moment what number she had counted up to, because she would have to start again. "You just said you told me what you wanted me to do, and I agreed. Did I miss part of this conversation?"

"A moment," he said, stalling for time as his mind replayed his last words. "Yes, you said you'd agreed with me." He glanced at her face, and found her staring back at him. "Well, see that you do, Madame," he added briskly, satisfied that he had won.

This conversation was starting to make her head hurt. Trying to pin down where his logic had wandered off of the path, she couldn't even form a reply to his last words. She just nodded her agreement. He was looking at her, scrutinizing her expressions. She finally had to ask, "Is that all you needed to see me for?"

"No, I was going to tell you that I am going to give some help to your American friend."

"Really? What are you going to do?"

"I am not sure yet, Emily. I may have to be seen as Martin." He paused to pull out the shell he had received. He had brought it back and drilled a small hole in it, running a satin cord through it. "I want you to keep this with you at all times. Tuck it away, but always have it on you."

Emily took it from his hand, looking at the small swirling shell. "Alright. You're not going to give me any more hints are you?"

"I'm going to be busy for the next few weeks. I may not be seeing much of you until this is settled."

"I'll be busy as well with getting everyone set up with their typewriters." That was one of the primary reasons she had agreed to the cabs. She would be busy enough she would have to take them anyway.

Erik looked at his intended; they were alone in one of those rare moments during the day when Phillipe or Javier weren't due to stop in. He stepped forward and took her hand, giving it a tug; she stepped closer with a smile. He raised a hand to her face, "Hello, Madame."

"Hello, Monsieur," she replied. She expected a kiss, but he only looked at her.

"I'll miss you, ma charmanté," he told her.

"You of all people should know where to find me."

He surprised her with a mischievous smile "Yes, I do." Pausing to make sure he could hear no approaching footsteps to the study, he said, "I love you, Emily."

Her eyes drifted closed and her smile turned radiant. "And I love you, Henry Charles Erik De La Shaumette."

Despite his surprise, he had to laugh. "I suppose I encouraged that didn't I?"

She giggled, "I just wanted you to be sure you knew that I love you too."

Erik began a slow teasing kiss that kept her breathless for the rest of their brief time together.

* * *

Watching the clerk leave for lunch, Boston Jim Burns waited until the other bank clerk was busy with a customer. He walked to the first clerk's vacated desk, taking down the man's ink stained coat, and donned it. Dropping his hat in the man's chair, he proceeded behind the other clerk to the stairs which led down to the room that held the vault and the safety deposit boxes.

For nearly two months Jim Burns had kept watch over the bank. Every Tuesday around the lunch hour, the first clerk would leave, and an elderly gentleman would arrive at the bank to gain access to the Formier Insurance Agency's safety deposit box.

When the elderly man arrived, Jim busied himself sorting papers on the table where the customers would bring their boxes to open them. As the gentleman sat down the box, Jim silently noted the stack of Bonds the man shifted out of a folder and into the box, closing the lid.

Edward Tully glanced inside, saw Jim Burns nod and came to the man and tapped him on the shoulder. "Monsieur Daudet…"

As man turned around to see who was addressing him, Jim Burns lifted the lid of the deposit box, slid out the bonds, replacing them with a handful of papers and closing the lid silently. Sliding the stack in a small bag, he proceeded past the two men out of the vault, up the stairs, and retrieved his hat on the way out of the bank's door.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Monsieur! I mistook you for someone else." Edward Tully told the gentleman. He backed out of the vault smiling at the man, then left the bank behind his partner.

The older man slid the box back into the cubby, closed the door over it and locked it. The bonds would not be missed until he returned the next Tuesday, a full week away.

Broken-Nose Tully opened the bag in their private room on the train. "Looks to be sixty-five thousand Francs."

"Thank God," was the exasperated reply from Jim Burns. "I'd hoped to put that town behind me, and this makes it all worth it."

* * *

When Chase Kennard stopped into the hotel to check his messages, he found a note with an address for the Rue de Rennes. Confirming with one of the staff that this area of the city was a row of docks that faced the river, he and Henri planned a late dinner.

Erik watched them arrive from the end of the warehouse. The taller of the two must be the American; his posture and his gait betrayed the edginess of a man who expected violence. He waited for them to stop before the boat, then broke out of the shadows and joined them.

Chase could feel the change in the air. Head swiveling instinctively, he turned to see the lone figure moving towards them in a silence as impenetrable as a tomb. Something dark covered half of his face; something darker hovered behind the gaze of the eye that met his.

Erik walked slowly towards the American; the man might have in possession the gun Emily talked about. He stopped a few feet away, "You are Kennard?" The man gave him a curt nod, his eyes never breaking contact with his own. It was the sort of all-encompassing gaze that centered on the face, but took in the rest of the body. Fencers were taught that gaze. Gunfighters must learn it as well.

The shorter man in a light summer suit with a boater hat stepped up beside Kennard. "I am Henri Capegon. I am Mr. Kennard's interpreter, Monsieur."

Erik nodded to Henri. "I am Martin. I work for De La Shaumette." He turned his full attention back to Kennard. "I am to help you find what you are looking for."

Chase recognized the name; the man was reputed to be De La Shaumette's spy along the river, and possibly his henchman. Informants had warned him to treat the man with a wary respect. His whereabouts were always questionable, and his actions were rarely heard about until after the fact.

Erik led them to the cabin of the _Erebus_. Inside he motioned the two men to the table, standing across from them, he put his back to the cabinets. "What can you tell me about the men you are looking for?"

Erik crossed his arms over his chest and listened to the combined voices of the agent and his interpreter. His work with music made it easy for him to endure the bizarre duet of two languages interspersed.

"The central figure we are trying to track down is known as Ned Darlington. He's a talented forger who linked up with a man names Joseph Sterns in New York. Sterns acts as the boss for the gang, using a sneak thief named James Burns, another man named Edward Tully, and a woman named Annie Reilly.

"You are sure these are the people involved in the crimes?"

"If there are any others, they would be local talent called upon as receivers."

"We start with your forger." Erik held up a hand and turned to pace along the length of the cabinet. "What is his preferred medium?"

"Paper," Chase replied, "he does checks, securities, and bonds. But he has been known to dabble in other forms."

"Experimenting, or seeking another source of cash flow?"

Chase pondered the question, "Either I suppose. He always comes back to the paper."

"Because he is more secure in his abilities? It is safer for him?"

"I'd agree with that."

"Would you say he is an artist?"

Chase nodded, impressed by the man's insight. "Absolutely. Forgers are part artist and part alchemist.

"What alchemy has he practiced?"

"Paste for diamonds in Paris and LeMans. They were substituting rings at jewelry shops. And that is why we are in Rouen."

Erik understood the direction Kennard was going, "Paste needs to be made in an oven, and Rouen has porcelain manufacturers." This was good news because it meant that Kennard was only searching in the most likely places. "Paste requires chemicals. I shall have Dugast go over his manifests for the chemicals which might be used." He stopped and leaned an elbow on the cabinet. "Do you know what he is working on now?"

"No. The last job they did was some bad bonds turned in at a bank in Arras."

Erik took a map out of the cabinet and laid it out on the small table. Taking up a stub of a pencil he made a circle around the towns that Chase had mentioned. Chase added a few more, pointing them out to him.

"This Sterns, what kind of man is he?"

Chase smiled slightly, "American, but very good with the French language. I'm not sure how long they planned to come over here, but they got the language down pat before they did."

"I need a clearer picture, Monsieur." Erik leaned back on the cabinet. "Habits, hobbies, vices; the man must indulge in some guilty pleasures."

"His nick name is 'Peppermint Joe'. He carries around a little tin of the candy in his pocket," Chase sat back as well and thought. "He seems interested in history and writing. The man doesn't gamble, doesn't go for the ponies, or cards as far as we know. If he chases skirts, he is careful not to make one woman a habit. I know about the candy, but food or liquor preferences are a blank for me."

"So Sterns hides behind anonymity?"

"He does nothing remarkable or out of line. Not one thing that would bring suspicion down on him. This is why I asked Madame Griggs about contacts with De La Shaumette. It's going to take a lot of eyes, knowledgeable eyes, to find this man."

"Very well, Dugast will keep an eye out for smaller cargos. I'll check along the docks for information on someone who is trying to smuggle something along the river. That is all I can do at this point unless we find something that would point us to Sterns."

Chase didn't speak, but Henri continued, "You have our address at the hotel. How will we be able to contact you?"

"Send a note to De La Shaumette's address or Dugast. Either way, they will find me and pass the information on." He added, "This Sterns is well versed in French you say. Have you thought about him traveling through Belgium and Switzerland as well? French is the predominant language along the borders of these countries."

Henri translated for Chase, who seemed interested in this new angle to their search. "I'll get right on that." He replied to Erik. "We'll be in touch."

Erik stayed on the boat for a while, sitting at the table and looking at the map. Was there a pattern to be found here, or destinations picked at random. What would Sterns be looking for?

The circles on the map pointed to worthy venues for their crimes. Kennard said Darlington was best at paper. Banks were the most likely places, and larger towns had banks. They would also choose towns where they could move in and out quickly, hence the reason most of the towns had railway stations. All of the towns were large enough to support a population where new faces would not be noticed.

As Kennard had stated, they would need as many sets of eyes as possible to pick up any trail to these men. He would have to spend the evening talking to the people along the river. Javier and Phillipe could casually ask questions of local businesses, and dressed as Martin, he could be seen in warehouses, taverns and along the streets with the prostitutes.

He rubbed his one exposed eye. It was time to seek his bed and get what rest he could. For the remainder of the time it took to run these criminals to ground, he would have to be ready to move at a moment's notice.


	8. A Unique Woman

Chapter Eight: A Unique Woman

As she set the first foot on the steps that lead up to her apartment, Emily heard Madame Sablon's door open.

"These are for you; they wouldn't fit in the post box." The woman stood with a stack of envelopes in her hand, offering them to Emily. Taking the envelopes and thanking her landlady, she proceeded upstairs to her apartment.

Setting her satchel down by the end of the sofa, she shuffled through the pile of correspondence. She saw names she had never seen, and opening the envelopes she found they were all invitations requesting her presence at various public functions and dinners. It seemed unusual to be the sudden recipient of such invitations, until she read through one that congratulated her on her acceptance of De La Shaumette's intentions.

As her eyes swept over Erik's name, her sudden popularity made a lot more sense. She rubbed her forehead tiredly. She'd have to see if he was getting this kind of mail as well. The only silver lining to this cloud of paper in her lap was the fact that if she accepted most of them, she wouldn't have to worry about cooking a meal for the next several weeks.

* * *

Knocking on the door, Etienne ushered her inside with his usual reserved smile. "How are you today Madame Griggs?"

"Oh, I am so busy I wish I were three people right now," Emily replied.

"Monsieur is busy as well, but I'll let him know you are here. Why don't you go into the kitchen, Agnes would love to see you."

"Thank you, Etienne," she said. She'd love a chance to see Erik if he could fit her in. If not, she could at least leave a note for him and have a quick chat with Agnes.

She was half way through a glass of lemonade when Etienne came in and joined them, pouring himself a glass. "Has Agnes told you how happy we are that you have accepted the Monsieur's suit?"

Emily smiled, "Yes Etienne. Thank you both." It was touching that they felt this way about their employer. He couldn't be the ogre that people portrayed him if he had won the good wishes of these two people.

"A wedding would be wonderful," Agnes said.

"And children, perhaps," Etienne put in.

Emily kept the smile on her face, but shook her head, "I don't think that will be possible."

She received two crestfallen looks, and murmured apologies. "I never conceived in my first marriage, so I don't hold hope that it would happen this time," she told them.

Agnes reached out and gave her hand a squeeze, "We'll pray for you, cherie."

"Thank you, Agnes." Her mother had told her once that she believed a prayer was never wasted. She'd already had one prayer answered. She'd found someone who loved her for the person she was. Would it be so bad to pray for more?

* * *

Javier glanced at the list of chemicals, "All this to make a fake diamond?"

Erik paced in front of the study windows, "Yes. They are common enough substances. I think we also need to look for a place where the paste could be manufactured."

"How is it done?"

"The elements must be heated to mix them. I found in reading about the manufacture, that one of the elements, the soda ash is better kept dry, so I would be interested in a place where a kiln of some kind were available, and a warm, dry environment. Perhaps even stored near the kiln where the paste could be fused."

He went on down the list. "Soda ash is used in dyeing fabrics, so it would be plentiful in mill towns. The silica should be fused in an oven, and he would need to find a source for sand. Boron is imported from America or Tibet; it's used in factories for cleaning agents, so it stands to reason the mills here would use it as well. Arsenic or red lead are used as well. Red lead is available for use as paint pigments."

Erik sat down in one of the chairs by his desk. "What I am looking for in particular is someone who has recently gained access to an oven suitable for this work. It might even be possible that this Darlington fellow has taken a job at one of the porcelain manufacturers and is doing his work on the side."

"All right, I'll check out the manufacturers," Javier replied. "This is going to take time though Erik."

"I know, but at this point time is a luxury we can spend in narrowing our search. I believe sooner or later we will find some information on these people. Once we find our first clue, we will have a better idea of the trail to follow. If you think we need to add more eyes to the search, I'll let you have some petty cash to hire men with."

"I might need it to loosen some tongues at the factories."

Erik agreed, "I'll have Etienne take a check to the bank. You can pick up some cash on your next trip by here." He got to his feet as Javier moved to the door. "And send Emily up will you?"

Javier glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes glittering with humor, "Of course, Monsieur."

* * *

Retrieving her bag on the way to the stairs, Emily went up to the study and found Erik waiting by his open study door. He gave her a quick kiss and led her to one of his office chairs.

Sitting down, she pulled out her stack of envelopes. "It seems you are a very popular man."

Erik indicated another stack of envelopes on the corner of his desk with a sweep of his hand. "Yes, I've started receiving my own share of invitations."

"How do you wish to handle these?"

"I don't wish to. I do not appear in public, Emily. Because of our courtship I have suddenly become the prize society wants to see displayed at their salons and their public functions. I am not pandering to these aristocrats because they need new entertainment."

She was silent a moment. In a round about way that comment touched her. "You mean like I do with the guns?"

Why did his accursed tongue always have to cut her? His voice gentled, "I did not mean it like that, Emily." He sat in the chair next to hers.

"It's all right. I got used to the idea of being on display for other people. I've always been a kind of freak."

"You aren't a freak," he reassured her. He of all people should be the best judge of that.

"Yes I am," she replied softly. "I was always different." She turned to indicate the piano, "Vivian used to play, and I'd be the one sitting on the floor under it trying to find out what made the little hammers swing. I just have this odd head. People see complete objects and I see parts that fit together."

"That doesn't make you a freak, Emily. It means you are an intelligent person who questions your environment." He had found his way in the world by trial and error, and by observations he could make of people around him. "There is no bad connotation to an ability such as that."

"But I'm a woman," she retorted raising her hands. "Women aren't supposed to be interested in steam engines and tools and how the little hammers work."

"That just makes you unique." A unique woman would have more understanding for a unique man. It was only one facet to the gem that sat before him. He'd been mystified by her, attracted to her as any man would be. But it was the details of her life and the glimpses of her personality that had snared him.

"Do you know what the difference in my language is between unique and freak?"

Momentarily taken aback, he waited for her answer.

"It's how polite you are when you say it. See, if you're being nice you use the word 'unique' because it means different in a way that's worthy of noting. And 'freak' is something unusual that appears to be unique. Usually meaning it's surprising or even surprisingly ugly as we use the word. So really, you are pointing out that something is different with either word. You can be polite, or you can be rude."

He stretched out a hand to her, "You are unique, Emily. And I'm not just saying that to be polite."

"If you say so," she replied. His was the most important opinion in her life. She indicated the stacks of invitations. "How about I go over these with Hughette Pinson? Maybe I could attend a few functions in return for her putting out in her column that you still don't attend public functions."

Erik held up a hand, "I agree with the idea. However, I do not want you over extending yourself. You are busy during the day, and if you are out frequently in the evenings, you will wear yourself out. You do not owe anyone anything, Emily."

"I know. I'll talk to Hughette. She'll have some ideas." He was right. She couldn't attend every function, and she shouldn't.

* * *

Joseph Sterns polished the lens on his spectacles, squinting around the café where he sat in the afternoon sun. Not many customers were here at this hour, but he did get to see the boats go by on the river.

Picking the Paris paper back up, he scanned for any articles that might hint at where the police investigating the disappearing diamonds might be at in their investigation. As of yet, nothing had been added to the last appearance of the article. Good, that meant the trail had gone cold and they had found no traces of Annie, or any of the receivers who had left town with the gold or the diamonds in their possession.

That put Paris back in the running for a second round, as he saw it. After the Prussian war, and Paris' struggle to rebuild the city, money started rolling back into the banks. With businesses starting to prosper once again, there would be prominent men walking looking for investments. Finding and following those men took time, but revealed their routines, their dealings, and any bad habits they indulged in along the way.

Sterns had been raised in a God fearing Baptist family, but left for New York City after the Civil War in hopes of finding the American dream. Money was to be made everywhere, according to the papers. Arriving a young man with empty pockets, and taking a dreadful job as a clerk, it didn't take Joe long to see the only people making that fabled money were the gents who strolled in with it already in their pockets. Businesses grew from small storefronts to ponderous office buildings hiring the struggling work a day men like him. Watching the rich stroll through, while he and his peers returned to their cold water walk-ups in rows of tenements, Joe Sterns learned to hate the rich. He felt it was his self appointed mission in life to separate those strutting baboons from their stuffed wallets.

Reading the last article he had marked, Peppermint Joe folded up the paper and stuffed it under his arm. It was time to meet up with Ned Darlington, and plan the return to Paris.

After an exhausting day, Emily sat making notes in her appointment book when there was a knock at her door. Opening the door, she saw Maxine with a small jar in her hands.

"Madame Emily, we need to water your plant."

"You're right Maxine; I didn't get a chance to do it today." She followed the girl down the stairs. "You're a good assistant, Maxine."

"You said I could help," she responded, "See? I even brought a jar for the water."

Reaching the bottom of the steps Maxine ran to her grandmother's door. "I'll bring some water."

"Be careful." Emily waited for her to return and then walked with her to the potted palm.

"You should give her a name."

"Her," Emily asked. She leaned over to whisper behind her hand, "How can you tell?"

"I just know it."

They squatted down by the pot, Maxine carefully starting to pour out the water. "Move the jar around, Maxine. Like rain, the water should go everywhere."

"Like this?" Maxine asked.

"Yes. You did it just right."

"We do it again tomorrow?"

"We'll check it tomorrow. If you stick your finger down into the dirt and it is dry, it needs more. But if you stick it in and it feels wet, then the plant will be fine."

"I'll check it for you tomorrow?"

"That would be very helpful of you, Maxine." Emily told her, "I have a lot of work to do."

Madame Sablon had come out earlier while Maxine was at the dinner table. She'd cleaned up the loose dirt that trailed away from the pot that was left behind by Pidou when he retrieved the bag of diamonds.


	9. Interlude: Emily's Letter

To Mrs. Vivian Miller

My dearest Sister,

I pray this letter finds you and yours well. I confess that this missive will seem a little garbled, for it is the circuity of my thoughts that I wish to express to you.

I wrote to you of my dearest Erik's desire for courtship. And in entering in such a union, he has been the most generous and warmest of gentlemen. Since the news of his interest has taken wing throughout Rouen, I am deluged with invitations to many an evening. People here are quite intrigued (as you can imagine) with the mystery of a man whose face is never seen.

Deferring to him, as a good wife should, I took my modest stack of invitations to present to him. He rebuffs these attempts to draw him out into the public eye. I cannot help but wonder, dearest Vivian, if it is once again the question of the mask, or something else.

You know me, my sweet sister. I have never been a girl whose head was easily turned by members of the sterner sex. You also know of the tragedy of my marriage to William. Ah! That I could take back those years of my life. No doubt my heart would not have suffered so. With Erik I am remade. I have the chance at being the wife and companion of the heart of a man who will love me for the person he knows me to be. As such, I must say, that I am falling quite desperately in love with him.

Although I am the happiest of women when I am in his arms, I still see that he is struggling with something that he has not shared with me. I wrote to you of our evening when he made me promise never to look below the mask. Since then, I have seen the traces of something haunting in his eyes. I do not believe now, that it is only the question of the mask.

My trepidation is that I find myself succumbing to the romance of his advances. When I am alone, I wonder at what it is that he is loathe to reveal to me. I am not the kind of woman that stoops to being a curious creature. Do you remember Christmas when you all tried to peek at your gifts and were scolded by Father? I was the innocent in that tale, and as such it should reassure you that I am still not a woman to pry.

Soon, though, I will have to press my desires. I find myself growing sad at the fact that my Erik will not put his trust in me to this extent. Although I believe our union would be blessed by heaven, I feel such a longing for this trust that I am afraid I will not be able to consent to our marriage.

Remember me in your thought and prayers as I remember you and your family. Give the children a kiss from their Aunt Emily.

Your Loving Sister,

Emily


	10. A Meeting

Chapter Nine: A Meeting

July's heat was rapidly building towards the sweltering month of August. Erik looked once again at the map he and Kennard had marked. A footfall on the deck warned him his visitors had arrived. He opened the door for Henri Capegon and the American, who entered with subdued greetings and sat at the table.

"Anything new," Chase asked.

"We've been keeping watch on the factories. It seemed likely that your forger would need access to the ovens. I've still got a man working on that, establishing some more contacts who can keep an eye on the chemicals used in the area as well as new faces hanging around. Anything else turn up?"

"Yes and this one is odd," Chase told him, pointing out a town on the map.

They spent nearly an hour examining the map. Henri sat writing out small slips of paper with the dates of the crimes while Chase tacked them on the map with some small nails Erik had in the cabinet.

The latest false checks to turn up were in the city of Sarraguemines, near the border of Germany. Across the map were tags on over two dozen cities. "Paris only had one reported crime, the substituted rings?" Erik asked.

"That's the only one we can be sure that Darlington and Annie Reilly were in on."

Erik studied their notes. The dates were interspersed, so there was no clear trail across France. The gang appeared to be hopping from one location to another. "He must be keeping them on the move."

"Yes," Chase rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Sterns is quite the tactician when it comes to hiding his troops. No straight lines, no circling back, and no single central point to return to. He's thought this one out quite well."

Indulging his curiosity Erik asked Henri, "Why are the American Pinkertons hunting these men? Why isn't the Sûreté doing it?"

"Oh, they are." Nodding tiredly at the map Henry continued, "But these men are Americans. Who knows how they think but another American?"

Chase Kennard's lips twisted into a smile. "You go snake hunting, and you have to think like a snake."

Erik was beginning to catch a glimmer of the intelligence behind the man's self-deprecating comment. They were both lost in a forest with too many possible trails.

"What if we are just asking the wrong American," Henri put in.

Chase was quick to ask, "Who else-you mean Madame Griggs?"

"Why not," Henri replied. "A new set of eyes?"

Erik really didn't want Emily involved in any of this. He warned, "That woman is De La Shaumette's intended. You should be very careful approaching her."

Chase looked askance at the masked man, "Why?"

"We've heard of his reputation, Monsieur Martin," Henri said. "Monsieur Kennard believes that if anyone along the Seine can find a trace of these men, De La Shaumette will be that man. We in no way wish to involve Madame Griggs. But she is American. If she were to be asked casually," Henri let the question trail off into silence.

"I could ask her out for dinner again," Chase began brightly.

"No." Erik's harsh voice cut the detective off.

Chase sat forward with his elbows on the table and grinned, "Seems your boss isn't the only one carrying a torch for the little filly, eh?"

Henri repeated the words, but Erik noticed he curtailed the sentence. "Fil-lee?" He turned a hard look at Henri, "What is Fil-lee?"

Henri gave a negligent shrug, "It is one of his American slang terms. A fine woman is called a filly, it is a young horse."

As Martin turned to him, Chase held up two hands in mock surrender. "I didn't mean anything rude by that, Monsieur! We just talk like that in Texas."

Erik shook his head in disgust. His future wife was not a fil-lee. Never the less, he had them leave the map on the table. He'd send Emily a note and have her come to look at it. It would be another chance for them to see each other again.

* * *

The note said the _Erebus_ again.

Emily finished up her appointments late, but hurried home to get changed. As she got out of the cab, she walked to the corner of the street and looked towards the river. The long dark hull of the canal boat hugged the edge of the bank.

There was something oddly comforting about its presence. She thought that feeling arose inside her because it was the first place that they had kissed. It was where he had told her his name. It might have been where he decided to marry her.

The evening was sultry, and the cabin of the boat promised to be even warmer. Changing to a light blouse and skirt, she pulled the hair at her temples back in combs and captured the length of it in a ribbon. She pulled on some small slippers and started down the hill to the bank of the Seine.

With a light knock, she opened the door. Stepping inside she saw something lying on the table. The door opened behind her, turning she saw Erik. He walked to her, holding up a bottle of wine.

She reached for the bottle, but he drew it back. "I want something first," he said.

Emily feigned ignorance. "And what ever would that be?"

He stepped over to the table and sat down the bottle. "I need that infamous female intuition everyone pays such homage to."

Well, so much for her thoughts of a kiss. "What do I have to do?"

With a sweep of his hand, he indicated the map on the table. "Think like an American." He swung one of the stools around for her to sit on. While she sat looking over the map he uncorked the bottle.

Little nails held down scraps with dates. They were stuck in various parts of France, one very close to the German border. She didn't read the dates after she realized what the numbers were. She simply sat and read the names of cities in different districts. Some were along the rivers, some by the coast, and some were close to the mountains. There were famous names: Paris, Le Mans, and Brest.

"The famous names are understandable," she said. "But if you wanted to stay close to famous places you wouldn't go to someplace like," she paused to push a flag aside, "Bourges."

Erik sat a tin cup next to her on the table. She took a sip of wine. "Money isn't important either. You'd keep going to places where there was a lot of money, like the spas and beach resorts along with bigger cities. Where's the money in a town like Arras or Lunéville?

She sat quiet for a moment. "Which are the ones that might be the smallest?"

Erik looked over her shoulder, "Nevers and Quimper.

"I'm an American in France. Why would I go to Nevers? Would I go there to buy wine? Would I see a mine, or a factory? Would I visit lavender fields, or churches, or someone's grave?"

Erik knew exactly what Archimedes must have experienced when he cried 'eureka'. The addition of the town of Sarraguemines made sense now. "I'll have to start believing in that intuition, ma charmanté."

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Really? Did I find something?"

"Yes, Emily. I think you have." He looked down on her smiling face.

"But you aren't going to tell me what are you?"

"No. Not yet." He sat his cup down close to hers. From behind, he brushed her hair off of her neck; circling her waist with his other hand he dropped his mouth next to her ear. "Emily," he sighed, as he pulled her body backwards into his. His hands moved over her ribs, his fingertips finding the ridges of the bones. He stopped his hand's journey. "You aren't wearing a corset?"

"Mmmm? No. It's too hot."

For Erik the temperature in the cabin shot up another ten degrees. Under his slowly moving hand was a soft linen blouse and an even softer woman. Never one to pray at the slightest provocation, he sped his thanks heavenward for this. She'd cast aside that accursed whale-boned armor that females wore in deference to the heat.

He laced his fingers into the loose strands of her hair and slowly tilted her head to reveal the sweep of her shoulder and neck. He began a trail of kisses from her shoulder to her ear as his other hand slid up her ribs to the soft-swelling mound of her breast.

Coherent thought became an alien concept to him as instinct took over. He felt Emily's soft moan through her body as his hand moved over her. His fingertips grazed her, teasing a change in the soft surface to a hard peak. His mouth descended to her shoulder.

He'd only ever dared to dream of this. Accustomed to ivory, paper, and stone, the flesh of a woman was still an unapproachable medium to his hands. Whatever control he had mastered was melting away. Like a stallion dominating a mare, his teeth scraped against her skin.

He'd always been gentle with her. Tentative in his caresses and his kisses. The proper suitor was now gone; replaced by a man who was showing a woman the depth of his desires. The air in his lungs was hot and thick with the scent of her perfume. He eased his mouth away from her, his own breath racing along her skin as would the heat from a fire.

He let go of her hair and pulled her to stand, his foot catching the bottom of the stool and kicking it aside so he could pull her even closer.

Emily slid her hands along his forearms as he wrapped her in his embrace. He was rubbing his cheek against her hair as she leaned her head back against his chest. A rhythmic thumping sound was growing closer.

With a titanic effort, he stepped back from Emily and released her as a knock sounded on the cabin door. "Enter," he called.

Chase Kennard stood framed in the sunlight that flooded in from the door. A reed thin cigar clenched between his teeth, he saw Emily and tipped his hat. "Madame Griggs, a pleasure as always." Sauntering in, he tossed his hat on the table.

"Good Afternoon, Mister Kennard," Emily replied. She turned with her back to the table, hoping there wasn't a red mark on her neck from Erik. "Monsieur Martin asked me to stop by and take a look at your map."

Chase noted the bottle and the cups. What else did Martin ask her over for? Maybe the man was carrying a torch for his boss's lady friend. Emily seemed comfortable. Martin could have been a statue. The man revealed nothing in his eye or the expression on his uncovered face.

Chase asked Emily, "Come to any conclusions?"

She slid a glance at Martin. Chase could hardly believe the man's taciturn expression could become any grimmer. He appeared reluctant to speak in front of Emily Griggs who stood sipping wine.

"Yes. You came to Rouen on the assumption that Darlington needed access to ovens for the fake diamonds. The towns of Sarraguemines, Nevers, and Quimper are where porcelains are manufactured as well."

All right," Chase agreed. "We know Sterns keeps Darlington moving. He must have him manufacturing the paste and forging checks on the side. The forgeries would keep Burns and Tully busy, and bring in some income to finance this trip." He smiled at Emily.

She sensed the prolonged lull in the conversation was a hint. "I guess I'll run along. I've got things to do this evening." She smiled at Chase and sat her wine down. Turning to Erik she said, "Thank you for the wine, Charles."

With a curt nod he bid her a good evening as she past him. The men waited until her footsteps retreated from the cabin. Erik told Chase, "We may be looking in the right places, but for the wrong reason."

"How is that?" Chase's French was clipped, and heavily accented.

"Madame Griggs pointed something out which had been a passing thought to me. We are aware of Darlington making paste. What if he was planning on making something else?"

Erik pointed out the towns on the map. "All of these are manufacturing towns, including Rouen. What Rouen is famous for is Faience. It has been the European equivalent of the Porcelain of China."

"Porcelain required Chinese clay. The Chinese were loath to give up any of their secrets, so a German named Johann Friedrich Böttger discovered a way to mix several ingredients to mimic the clay." Erik stopped and pointed out towns on the map. "Quimper, Sarraguemines, Nevers, Lunéville, and Rouen all make Faience."

"And these ovens can make the paste as well. So you're saying that Sterns is having Darlington make fake pots?"

"No, Monsieur Kennard," Erik replied. "Faience was one of the materials the craftsmen of Egypt used thousands of years ago."

Erik paused, watching the wheels starting to turn behind Chase's eyes.

"Museums, collectors…" Chase began.

"Yes. I think you need to worry less about diamonds. Sterns may be preparing to steal artifacts."

Chase got to his feet. Since both men were near the same height, they paused eye to eye. Chase grinned lazily. "I've found something out as well. I'm taking a train in the morning. It appears we might have found Annie."


	11. Hello Annie

**Chapter Ten: Hello Annie**

"You can't arrest her?" Dressed as Martin, Erik sat on the stool opposite the Pinkerton agent.

"No. Not without the authority of the Sûreté to back me up. I need proof that she was in on the Paris theft. Since it was a case of replacing the ring with a fake, the real ring would be taken apart and dispatched through middle men. No evidence, no crime."

Chase stubbed out his cigar. "Annie is a shrewd woman. I'm hoping to contact her and offer her to turn evidence against Sterns. If she agrees, I'll need a place to bring her where she won't be found."

"We can arrange that. De La Shaumette owns a hotel in town."

"Perfect," Chase replied. "I'll contact you as soon as possible with what I find out from Annie." The American replaced his hat and took his leave.

Erik sat down next to the table and poured more wine in his cup. That had been close. Kennard had made sufficient noise to forewarn him of his arrival. If he hadn't, he would have found Martin and Emily Griggs in a most amorous embrace.

Kennard had already been amused that Martin was competing with De La Shaumette for Emily's affection. Like one of Emily's Penney Dreadfuls, the circumstances kept pilling up to complicate the plot.

* * *

A little after seven o'clock, Chase Kennard stood across from the tiny apartment building watching people come and go. After the last visitors, a weepy middle aged woman and her young daughter left, Chase went forward and entered the building. Of the names listed on little cards slid into the slots on the front of the mail boxes, one was new, and the name he was looking for. Going up to the second floor, he knocked lightly on the door.

Madame Jadwiga Sikorska quickly stashed the glass of whiskey away on the dresser of her bedroom, and putting on her shawl, proceeded to open her parlor door with a sweeping gesture, "Come in, come in, I have been in communication with the spirits!" She turned her eyes to take in the man waiting in the doorway and dropped her hands to her hips with a disgusted curl of her lip. "For God's sake, Kennard. You can't charge me with anything this time."

"Hello, Annie," Chase replied taking off his hat. "I just dropped by to check in with those spirits of yours."

Annie Reilly was a fine looking woman, even under the make up that aged her face. He'd know that lilting, breathy voice anywhere. She had on a coal black wig that was streaked around her temples with grey. No doubt, a little maturity would inspire more confidence in her customers. Rings adorned her fingers, and bracelets clinked together on her wrists. Her low cut vermillion blouse was probably designed to distract the gentlemen who would come to commune with the dead. That low cut blouse and her flashing green eyes could raise the dead, he thought.

Annie tossed her shawl over the crystal ball on the parlor table, and went to retrieve her drink. "Whiskey?" she asked as she proceeded to her kitchen area to get another glass.

"Certainly, Annie."

"That's Madame Sikorska to you, Kennard," she pronounced haughtily, accentuating the syllables with rolling r's.

"What is that anyway, Russian?"

"No, it's a Polish lady's name I got on a train. I thought it had a nice, mysterious sound to it." Annie sat down a half filled glass in front of Chase. "What are you after now, law man?"

"Sterns has been keeping Ned Darlington busy. What's he got you set up for next?" Chase asked, sipping his whiskey.

"You don't think I still hang around with Peppermint Joe do you? I got sick of him running the same cons everywhere we go. The man lacks imagination and its going to get me caught." She swirled the amber liquid in her glass in a mock toast. "Europe's a nice place, but they have some nasty jails."

Chase sat back. "And I'm supposed to believe you left Joe Sterns' bunch because of that?" He shook his head slowly, "Come on Annie, who else you going to hook up with here? This is France. The locals aren't going to welcome an American sneak thief into their fold just because you are getting tired of Joe."

"I'm not a sneak," she reminded him haughtily. "I'm a confidence woman. You want a sneak you'll have to talk to Boston Jim."

"How on earth did Joe get him to come over here?"

Annie snorted, "Jim's luck ran out in New York. He did one too many jobs on the side and had to make himself scarce lest the cops pull him in for real."

Chase nodded. New York police knew exactly who to look for in what situation. Between the crooks and the law, a truce of sorts had been called. Within an area around the rich and influential, crime had nearly stopped after the police started putting pressure on the criminals. Making a deal with the bosses, the police had agreed to take the pressure off in different areas of the city as long as the cordon around the rich stayed in place. Burns must have attempted to smudge that line.

"I'm going to get Joe this time, Annie. I just need the evidence, and the gang will get their passports stamped for the return trip to the states. If you are looking to get away from that bunch, I'd suggest you start making plans now. Get me?"

Annie tsked disgustedly, "Yea, I get you."

"I'll pay you for what you can give me, Annie. Here's my address," he tossed out a card bearing the hotel's address where he and Henri were staying. "I'll be waiting to hear from you."

He got his hat and moved to the door, Annie got up and followed. Chase wished for the hundredth time that they had met under other circumstances. He told her goodnight and shut the door quietly behind him.

Annie stashed the card in her dresser drawer and went to refill her glass. In a couple of days, Broken Nose Tully would come by. He'd been checking in on her for Peppermint Joe. There had better be some good news from Joe, or she might have to take up Chase's offer. After all, European jails were not the kind of accommodations she was working towards retiring in.

* * *

Hughette Pinson nodded and sat down her cup of coffee. "Of course, Emily. You can not possibly attend all of these affairs. Therese and I will go down the list and see which ones would be the most suitable."

"Thank you, ladies. I don't want to disappoint anyone, but there are just too many invitations to honor, and I'd be sorry if anyone felt slighted."

"Not to worry, my dear. How soon will your calendar be open to attend functions?"

Emily glanced at her bag. She'd taken to carry a larger purse with her appointment notebook tucked in it. "Well, I think I could start by the first of August. But I am supposed to go to Belgium for a week. After that, I think my evenings are not committed yet."

"Not even for Monsieur De La Shaumette?" Therese teased.

Emily smiled, feeling warmth infusing her cheeks. "We usually have dinner together, nothing too late." She paused. "I do have one other concern. I lack the wardrobe for so many affairs."

Therese smiled. "There is a new dressmaker in town. She's just building a clientele. Perhaps you two could work something out. After all, you are about to be paraded before Rouen society at all levels. The exposure for her designs would generate customers for her."

Pausing before the mannequin, Emily blanched. A woman's dress with an averaged size bustle and train could take as much as twelve yards of material, not including the yards of ribbons, chords, ruffles, pleating, and buttons. The dress on the mannequin looked like someone's flower garden had pulled up roots and was going for a stroll. Row upon row of ruffle over the length of the skirt was sewn with ribbon roses.

She turned to meet the designer. The woman was short and robust with a smiling round face. "How do you do? I am Catherine Choseau."

"Hello. I'm Madame Griggs. Madame Pinson gave me your card."

"Ah, yes. You wish some gowns?"

"Well, not so much gowns as sort of a more formal version of a day dress. I have to attend a variety of dinners, and…"

"Come on. We'll get your measurements. While you drink some tea, I'll give you some of the designs to look over."

Seated next to a small table, Emily started going through stacks of _La Mode Illustree_ magazines. Published weekly, they were the leading source of French fashion for men, women, and children. Using strips of paper Catherine gave her, Emily bookmarked a variety of dresses.

Working together, they went back over some of the pictures. "I see," Catherine said. "You are looking for something that can be made to an evening length, but staying to simple lines and embellishments." With a pained smile she added, "I suppose you've seen the ball gown," her eyes slid to the flowery confection at the front of the store.

Emily smiled. "It is a bit.."

"Nauseating?" Catherine chuckled.

"I was thinking more of the idea that it must be very heavy."

Catherine nodded. "It took seventeen yards of material, most of which is in the bustle's train. She'll have to wear two bustle pads to prop it up, and the long style of corset. The poor woman will hardly be able to sit down! But, she's young and this is what she wants."

"I'd like to stick to something with simple lines."

"I have an idea we could try. A woman in Paris asked for a dress that had a detachable front skirt. She had collars and cuffs that could be changed, and with the skirt panel and a small jacket, you might be able to use the dress three or four times and it would appear different every occasion."

"That would be perfect," Emily replied.

* * *

Erik read through the piles of newspapers and books that he had Etienne bring to the study. When he had been with Emily, something she said had been surfacing during the day in the back of his mind.

Emily, being an American, looked at the map as any visitor would. What made her insight more imperative was the mention of what a tourist would go to see. Any tourist would gravitate towards the more famous articles on display. In his mind, he'd go in search of art or music or a museum.

He doubted the Americans would attempt a theft at the Louvre, but there were several smaller and more specialized museums in Paris. What he needed to research was the number of private collections.

Armed with newspaper articles and recent maps, the gang might be hopping about checking out the private collections. He would have to mention that to Kennard as well. The man must be in touch with the Sûreté, they could ask them to be on the look out for this nature of crime while he and Kennard attempted to pick up the trail of the gang from the other end.

The quiet of his study was interrupted by the occasional passing of a carriage outside the windows. Leaning back in his chair he thought of Emily. What was she doing right now? Kennard had said he would be in contact with him. Would it be safe to take Emily somewhere and be alone again? It was best if she came here.

He pulled out a slip of paper and drafted a short note.

**A/N**: Jadwiga Sikorska is the name of one of Marie Curie's school teachers in Poland.


	12. Fields of GrainPart One

_A/N: Thanks tremendously to Lizzy, for the invaluable information on shooting. _

**Chapter Eleven: Fields of Grain-Part One**

When she heard the bumping noise upstairs, Emily stilled her hand. Waiting, she heard no more, and finished locking her apartment door. Putting her keys in her bag, she turned to look up the stairs. When no one appeared she proceeded downstairs.

She had two separate appointments today before noon, and a quick stop to make later. Pushing open the door to the building, she started down the hill to the Seine. Moored against the bank was the _Erebus_. Erik must have decided to leave it there for a while. She couldn't help but wonder what else Chase Kennard had revealed last night.

If the man had not made noise, there might have been a lot more revealed. She'd felt herself red to the roots of her hair once she exited the cabin. Outside in the cooler air, she'd realized how far things might have gone last night.

It was time to make some decisions. Javier would help her.

* * *

Emily arrived at the De La Shaumette home by carriage. Greeted by Etienne at the door, she peeked into the parlor and saw Agnes dusting one of the tables. "Hello, Agnes. Has Monsieur had his lunch yet?"

Agnes put down her dusting cloth and returned Emily's smile. "No, I haven't sent one up to him yet."

"Good." Emily produced a basket. "Could you pack it in here?"

Surprised, she asked, "He is going out?"

Emily shot her an impish grin. "If we can drag him out."

Javier came inside the door. "I'll help pack, you go get him."

Emily headed for the stairs. "It might take two of us to get him out of there."

Erik was retrieving his current book from the desk when a knock sounded on the study door. He wasn't expecting anyone on a Saturday morning, and opening the door found Emily on the threshold.

"Good morning," she piped. "Look at you, those clothes are perfect." From behind her back she whipped out a hat. "Here."

Erik's pleasure at her sudden appearance began to melt as he looked at the proffered object in her hand. Grasping in carefully between two fingers, he held it up. It was a dark felt hat, with a very wide, floppy brim that looked as if it had lain in the street and been trampled by horses. "What is this for?"

"It's your disguise," she replied smiling. She added hastily, "Javier will drive the carriage, Agnes has packed our lunch, and we made arrangements with a farmer on the edge of town to use his field."

"Emily, no," he explained. "You know I don't let people see me as De La Shaumette."

She stepped close to him. "The only people who will see you are Javier and I. The hat is for the carriage just in case." She reached to grasp his hand. "I have plans for you."

Erik sighed and looked down into her hopeful eyes. Good God, did love turn all men into these malleable lumps for women to twist in every direction? Against his better judgment followed her out onto the landing. "Did you say you had packed lunch?"

"Yes, and my guns."

He stopped dead at the top of the stairs and pulled her to a stop by her hand. "What?"

She turned her face up to his and leaned forward. Erik looked down at her and relented; he could wait for the argument, but those lips were begging to be kissed. He stepped down onto the stair she was on.

As his lips came close to hers, Emily spun away and started down the stairs. "Come on! We're wasting daylight!" From behind her she heard his footsteps and a stream of foreign words. She stopped by the front door as he stepped off the stairs. "What was that?"

"German, and vile if I remember correctly." Placing the hat on his head he glanced behind to see Javier coming out of the kitchen with the basket.

Agnes smiled in the doorway.

"I don't know what hour we will return," Erik told her. "Don't worry about dinner."

"Enjoy your outing," Agnes replied.

Erik considered her for a moment. She and Etienne had seen to his home and his comfort for over a year now. In an odd way he had taken over their life; they spent long hours with him, and yet they were strangers to each other. "Thank you, Agnes."

He heard Emily call from the carriage, and stepped out of his front door into the bright July sunshine.

"I suppose this little adventure is for my benefit somehow?" Erik slid onto the carriage seat as he pulled the door closed. It was customary for the man to sit with his back to the driver, and the woman facing. But as the carriage began to move, Emily switched seats and squeezed in beside him.

It seemed so fitting; she had been squeezing her way into his life since she arrived. With every meeting, every exchange of notes, their moments had brought them closer together.

"This is just courtship," she nodded at where Javier sat driving, "We even brought our chaperone."

He raised an eyebrow and asked, "With guns? This must be the American version."

"Is the French way different?" As the words rolled off of her tongue Emily saw the supreme male smile start to spread on his face. "All right, I stepped right into that one."

Erik smiled; she hadn't yet, but she might before the day was through.

The carriage rocked as Javier climbed down, looping the team's reins to one of the tree limbs at the edge of the field. He opened the door and helped Emily down. Erik slid out behind her in rolled up shirtsleeves and the amazingly ugly hat.

Erik looked around the field. There were no houses around, so Emily and Javier had selected a good spot for their outing. He took a couple of steps forward into the long grain, his hand brushing the tasseled heads that swayed around him. It had been a long time since he had felt the intense heat of the summer sun on his shoulders. He removed the hat and turned his face up to the blue sky.

As her skirt stirred the grain, Emily approached Erik with a smile on her face, and her shotgun in the crook of her arm. Cradled in her other was a rifle. "We need to walk a little farther in." She nodded to the right of the field. "Javier will set up the trap machine so you can shoot in that direction."

He looked down at the weapon on her arm; its long barrel gleamed. "Why are you so sure I wish to learn this?"

"I'm not sure," she replied. "But it is a chance for use to learn more about one another, remember?" She offered him the shotgun.

Hefting it in his hands, it didn't seem overly ungainly; the balance of the weight seemed to shift forward, pulling the muzzle to the ground.

As they walked further into the field, she asked, "Are there poisonous snakes in France?"

Erik nodded. "Vipers. They prefer the southern climate."

"If this were Ohio, we'd be looking out for rattlers and copperheads. Have you spent time in the country?"

"Yes" he replied simply. "When I was on the boat we would go to shore while the lock keeper tied off the boat and worked the flood gates. A walk in the field was a welcome break from the days on the boat."

"How long did you work the river?"

"Four years. During that time I purchased the Rouen house, and Charles Martin left the river to work for De La Shaumette."

Emily stopped. "This is a good spot." She faced them away from the sun's movement. Putting down her rifle, she opened a pouch she had strapped to her waist.

"These are shells. They are for the shotgun." She opened her other hand. "And these are bullets for the rifle. A bullet travels much farther. But the _shot_ inside this shell spreads out as the gun fires."

She stood and considered him for a moment. "You are going to have to shoot left- handed."

"Why?"

She stepped forward, hand open for the shotgun. "Because your mask will be in the way."

Erik glanced down. He could count on one hand the number of times she had said the word mask since she arrived in France. It still caused an uncomfortable stirring in his gut.

She explained the different parts of the shotgun and had him load shells into the receiver. Stepping closer, she pushed it in his hands so that it brushed his cheek as he sought to look down its length cupping it into his shoulder.

"This is a 12 gauge. Where I come from, men do the shootin', so I learned with it. I should use something smaller." She waved a hand down her body. "Since I'm a girl and small."

Erik looked down at her, slowly perusing the landscape he was coming to know. "I like that you're a girl," he teased.

Emily blushed. Remembering the canal boat, she was glad as well.

* * *

The sharp crack of the gunfire broke away into echoes like thunder across the field. The tree trunks absorbed some of the explosive sound, turning it back towards him. The sound and the force of the recoil gave Erik an idea of the power of the shot as it sped away towards an improvised target.

After a few shots, Emily offered him the rifle. "Try this now so you can feel the difference." She held up a finger. "I must warn you, though. A shotgun sends a lot of small shot out to broaden as they move. A rifle's bullet can fly more than a mile. You have to learn that so you won't accidentally hit something."

She pointed, and he turned to follow where she indicated. "There's a bank over there. Best thing is to practice hitting it. That way we won't take the chance of hitting something else."

"Not a tree?" Erik asked.

"Bullets are powerful. They can keep traveling and a ricochet can be deadly."

A scant inch above his trigger finger, the firing pin set into motion a tiny explosion. The force of the gasses propelled the lead down its dark path until it split the air in front of the muzzle and raced to its destiny. Smoke curled up out of the end of the barrel. Yards away, an answering puff the bank signified the end of the bullet's travel.

"Is that what you were aiming for?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Are you ready to try a moving target?"

He nodded. Emily took the rifle. "You use the shotgun for trap shooting. Javier will send up the targets when you're ready.

"What you have to do is teach your body to track the travel of the target after you have the shotgun up and ready. The talent is in learning to put the gun in the same place every time."

Erik took the gun back from her. She waved a hand to Javier who pulled a lever and the trap machine sped a small clay disk into the air. His eye caught the movement, the gun rose into position and he fired. The clay target exploded.

"Are you sure you've never shot a gun before?" Emily asked suspiciously.

"No. I've never needed to use one."

She shook her head and said, "Well, either you have beginner's luck, or very good reflexes."

She walked to where she was sure he could not see her from the corner of his eye and held her fingers out. Javier noticed the motion; she was going to have him send up more targets when she indicated.

At sporadic points in time, she had Javier send up the targets. Each time Erik moved in a fluid motion, shooting down three of the five targets. As the last one arced through the air, he tracked its movement and pulled the trigger.

He turned slightly and saw Javier and Emily look at each other. It was in their eyes, that guarded disbelief, the uncertainty of the rabbit before the fox.


	13. Fields of GrainPart Two

**Chapter Twelve: Fields of Grain Part Two**

Emily watched him turn, something in his eyes made her heart beat harder. She stepped around him and waited for him to look at her. "Erik?"

He heard her voice finally, muffled, as if it came a great distance. He realized with a start that she must have asked him something. He opened the gun, offering it to her so that she could see no shells remained unfired. She had taught him that; it was a courtesy to others. It gave him a reason not to look at her.

Emily tried again. She reached out for his arm. "What is it?" When he didn't speak she pressed, "Let's take a walk."

Walking back to Javier, Emily handed him the shotgun, "We'll meet you back at the carriage."

She caught up to where he had started walking, coming abreast. She tucked a hair behind her ear. The simple act giving her a moment to frame what she needed to ask. "Are you uncomfortable with the guns?"

Erik exhaled, closing his eyes. "No."

"I understand if you are."

He glanced at her finally. She had clasped her hands behind her and strolled along looking at the sky. "Why?"

"Different people have different beliefs. Some are quick to point out that guns are used in war, and therefore make them feel uncomfortable."

His thoughts became more centered. "That's an overweening statement. War is about much more. It is arrogant to blame society's problems on an object."

"True," she ducked her head. "Where I come from a gun is necessary part of our lives."

He stopped sharply. "Oh no!" She raised her hands with a slight smile. "It isn't like we have to defend the farm. No marauding Indians in Ohio these days!"

She captured the wayward strand of hair again, waiting and watching him through her lashes. His eyes were loosing their intensity.

"My Father used the gun to run off a bear once. Mostly, it came down to hunting in winter when the weather turned bad enough that the deer were starving. They attracted the predators, and would have died a slow death anyway."

She glanced at Erik. "Life and death go hand in hand on a farm. We raised pigs. When the first heavy frost came, my Father would kill one and we'd spend the day butchering it."

She'd seen death. How it came to take the spark out of the eye and the breath from the lips. She'd felt the warm blood dripping into cooling pools.

"We took good care of our stock. We feed them well and nursed them when they took sick. But when the time came, they gave back to us by providing our food. Some of you city folk don't understand that."

"Not all people's lives are so defined as yours," Erik murmured.

She walked along and swung an arm; it brushed his. "Life defines itself. Every day is like another page added into a book. Some days are good. Some days you wish you could have missed. And some days are just lazy, happy hours rolling along to sunset."

He knew what day it was. The heavy feeling in his chest refused to leave. His steps would falter, and his shoulders collapse under the truth of his past.

"You were somewhere else, weren't you?" Her voice was the tentative push at the edge of the door.

"You did that in the study as well. The day I asked you the name of that song you were playing. You were in another place, weren't you?"

Her hands behind her back, she walked on. Erik stood on the edge of the dirt path they had used as a road to the field. He squatted down and captured a sheaf of grain in his fingers.

Erik let the stalk of grain move against his fingertips, as he heard the brushing sound of Emily's skirt. The grain bowed down before her feet. Her steps in unison with the memory of the tent stakes being driven.

Erik pulled at the head of grain, its brothers shivered uneasily in the breeze. "They would stop in fields like this, hammer the stakes into the ground, and together they would raise the tent up. Every time the hammer fell, it was like something was driven into my heart, _the fear_ that built with every strike.

"They'd light the torches and bring in the town's people. The performers would do their tricks while the children begged for coins. Some of the gypsies would play music and sing. Later the women would dance for the coins from the men who stayed behind.

"The children would come into the tents with their parents. I could see the faces pressed up against the bars. Some were fearful, some taunting. They'd toss things at me; try to draw me out with coins. And then my keeper would arrive.

"He'd put on a grand show. He brandished a whip, the keeper of a wretched boy sitting in filthy rags with a rough sack over his head. Every night it was the same. I was an entertainment, a money-making opportunity. I'd resist, but he'd pull the bag from my face. For good measure he'd whip me. It seemed to entice the crowd to watch longer, spend more coin to heap more pain upon me.

"He told them I was the _Devil's Child_. My Mother had been cursed, and Satan was my father. My face was the proof of my parentage. Only the gypsy magic could capture me. They were doing a service to the unsuspecting by keeping me in a cage."

The undulating amber heads across the road seemed to be nodding to his words. In her misting eyes, Emily saw a tormented and miserable child.

Erik stood up slowly, not meeting her eyes. "Don't feel sorry for me, Madame. When I had the chance in Paris, I took hold of the end of the whip and wrapped it around his neck while he sat counting the money my misery brought." He raised his hands. The grain was momentarily still, waiting for his words.

"My hands, my innocent hands pulled on that leather braid with every ounce of strength I had in me. I watched as my hands took that man's life, and felt exultation as I released his slack body to the floor. I had entered the cage a slave. I would leave it as the God of Death. The shatterer of worlds."

Erik turned to her. She had wrapped her arms around herself and the tracks of tears ran down her face. "He isn't the only one I killed, Emily. Don't see me as that wronged child. Even if you believe what I say, believe that I did it for self-preservation; the result is still the same. The man is dead."

"That is why when the opportunity came; Charles Martin worked to create De La Shaumette. From that position, there are no threats that can reach me. No one sees the mask. No one sees the killer."

The sun had heated up his skin, but her silence was turning his blood to ice. "You deserve the truth, Emily. But so do I. I'd hoped through the years for compassion-pity even. But I will not accept those useless emotions anymore. I am a man, and I deserve more than that. I have done wrong, and I have done right. But above all I did what I had to do to survive in a world that hated a child because he was born monstrous."

He took a step towards her; the golden stalks broke under his feet. "My own Mother was afraid of me."

She wiped at her eyes, her disbelief etched in the pain he saw. "My Mother wouldn't even touch me unless she had to. She'd feed me, and scold me, and even beat me, but she would never kiss me. She never loved me, I was an obligation."

"What about your Father," Emily asked. The breeze sent the tasseled heads whispering again.

"He never saw me. I was my Mother's hope to keep a part of him alive. Instead I was an ugly beast sent to remind her that all she had loved was gone. We were Catholic, so she couldn't kill me. I was ugly, so no one would take me. Kept in a room I occupied my mind with music and science. Mathematics came easily to me. She did not understand how I was capable of such things, so she became afraid of me."

It was my Father's family that finally relented and took me away from her. I suppose they thought they could absolve themselves of their treatment of her. They told her they'd find a place for me. They had a servant take me away. Perhaps she really was to deliver me somewhere, but instead she was offered money by the gypsies."

He stopped and looked out over the fields. Listening to the peaceful sound of birds, the buzz of insects, and the symphony of life around him. The empty silence from the woman beside him was more damning than any sentence a judge and jury could have dealt him. A cloud passed, sending the grain into its shadow.

Emily sniffed, and rubbed at her nose. Her heart was still struggling to beat out a steady rhythm. The grain stood silent, waiting for her words.

For the first time in her life she knew why wolves threw back their heads and emitted their mournful howls. Her arms around her kept that sound of anger and despair from tearing its way out of her to rend the air.

She sniffed again and gasped for air. Damn it all, she didn't want to break down. He'd put it off so long she had begun to doubt him of ever telling her his past. He'd finally opened up to her. She held out a hand towards him, towards the man who had seen her as something precious.

Erik looked at her hand, and then at his, the hands of a killer. His throat had gone tight. The hand he wanted so badly to hold was offered to him. He touched her fingertips to his tentatively. "That isn't the entire story, Emily."

She twisted her fingers around his, and pulled on his hand. "That's enough for one day."

Erik came to her and brushed the tears from her face with his thumbs, looking down into her tear filled eyes.

"Is that what you meant, about living in darkness?" she asked.

"Most of my life was spent in darkness. Don't weep for that child Emily, or for the man. My life has been a journey towards something, and I think that something is you."

He wrapped an arm around her and she leaned her head upon his chest. "_Ma charmanté_, I could not find you until I became the man I am now, who left the darkness behind. The man who could offer you a life you deserve." He felt her nod. His fingers trailed up and down her back until her breathing steadied.

Emily looked up. "I'm sorry. I wanted to give you a day in the sunshine."

He smiled. "But you have." She was the sunshine, the light that cursed the shadows and warmed a heart that had frozen. The grain whispered as the breeze bore the cloud away.


	14. A Moment Of Trust

**Chapter Thirteen: A Moment of Trust**

Erik watched the glint of the sun flash along the rim of the glass Emily held. She was giggling at Javier's story and the wine threatened to slosh out.

"It's true!" Javier protested. "I swear before God, I knew I was going to die."

Erik felt Emily's amused gaze slide towards him. He pursed his lips and shook his head 'yes'. Her mouth fell open and her eyes grew large in response.

"It's true," Erik told her. "I found him in one of the upstairs rooms." He pinned Javier with his eyes. "We both had to climb out of the window."

Emily watched as Erik drained the last of his wine in a long, smooth pull. His fine hand cradled the glass. How had the boy in the cage grown to this elegant man? She finished her own wine. The breeze stirred the grain around the edges of the blanket they sat upon. "So, do you miss those trips along the river?"

Both men snorted. Javier picked up the bottle, offering more, but Emily and Erik declined. "For me," Javier put in, "it was a good life. But I don't miss the docks."

"The river stays in your blood," Erik murmured. "But the endless tedium of searching for the next cargo wears thin after a time."

Javier grinned. "So now, George Dugast handles the tedious part of the deals. And Erik handles the speculation and the investments."

"And what do you do?" Emily asked.

"Nothing if I can help it," Javier replied. "But don't tell my boss."

The sun's rays were slanting through the trees at the edge of the field. Emily pushed her errant lock of hair behind her ear and started gathering up the remains of their lunch. The men pitched in, Javier took the basket back to the carriage as Erik helped her shake out the blanket and fold it.

He stepped forward, matching the two corners he held to the two in her hands, his face close. "Come home with me." His fingers slid over hers, and took the blanket.

She felt the promise in those strong, warm hands. She darted a quick glance towards the carriage, and leaned forward to quickly place a kiss on his chin. "I suppose I could trust Javier to get the Remingtons home."

"Why did you bring me out here?"

"Because it was time. You've been courting me for a month now, and I sense that things are …progressing."

He felt a little flushed and wondered if he was blushing. "The boat?"

"It's the place that you can be you." She turned towards the trees, a group of crows quarreled.

Looking at her, he felt taller and lighter. The weight had started to fall away from him, what if it was too much for her? "Do you need time to think over what I have told you?"

"If I don't go back with you will you think it's because you did?" She searched his eyes. For a man who could be so commanding, he looked unsure of how to respond. "You aren't getting away that easily. You said there was more to tell," she wove her hand through his arm. "And I'll be waiting to hear it."

"Can I tell you something now?"

"What?"

"You have freckles, Emily."

"The sun does it. I know it's terribly out of fashion, but I'm just a country girl, you know. You should be glad I wear shoes."

They came abreast of Javier who stood by the carriage; he held the rumpled hat out with a grin. "Your travel attire, Monsieur."

"_Pendejo_," Erik muttered, garnering a snicker from Javier. He held out a hand to assist Emily into the carriage. Once again, she squeezed into the seat next to him. Erik held her hand lightly. Her flesh was warm from the sun.

* * *

Annie shut her door, silencing the strident voices from the upper stairwell. She tossed the money her last customer paid her into her strongbox and shoved it in the bottom of the kitchen cabinet. She was finishing her dinner when a knock sounded at her door. Tossing her shawl back on in case it was a late customer, she opened the door with a smile. "Hello, Jim."

Jim Burns strode into the apartment, tossing his hat on the table. Jim was a tall man, whose broad shoulders filled out the jacket he wore. He'd trimmed his thick mustache into the current French fashion, looking dapper. "How'd it go this week Annie?"

She gave a tired shrug. "All right. I did a little better than I thought. It's not like I have a lot of places to spend it."

Jim snorted. "I'm getting tired of these little towns. I want to sink my teeth into something that will bring us more."

"Want a whiskey?" She was already heading for the kitchen as she asked. Annie considered the glass she picked, and filled it a little fuller than usual. Offering it to Jim she waved him towards one of the chairs. "Sit a spell. I want to hear what's going on."

Jim sat, unbuttoning his jacket with a gusting sigh. "We finally got out of that town we were in, Arras, remember? Tully was getting anxious, and I was bored out of my mind."

"Solitaire again?" she asked with a roll of her eyes.

Jim sipped his drink in the quiet, pursing his lips. Annie recognized that habit. Jim's mind was always working, and his movements betrayed his irritation. His gaze darted around the room. "Looks comfortable here."

"The upstairs tenants fight every night and the lady downstairs cooks cabbage on Wednesday and fries fish on Friday." She took a sip of her drink. "I'm getting tired of this, Jim. I want out of here and I want out of France."

"I know."

"You do too, don't you?" She'd been a maid in a hotel who had been carefully removing liquor and money from the rooms when she'd met Jim Burns. He'd paid her to watch the stairs while he entered rooms. When they'd worked together long enough, he started teaching her confidence games in earnest.

His dark eyes examined her. "I want to pull one good job, just one big one and then get the hell out of here. It's tiring, always remembering to speak French, and to act French. I want to walk into a restaurant, order an inch thick steak and a glass of beer."

"So what's Joe working on now?"

"Paris."

She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.

"I know how you feel, Annie."

"No, you don't," she exploded. "He's going to run us into the ground, I tell you." She paused; hearing her Irish coming through.

"This one might be the big one."

"It doesn't matter, Jim, and you know it. The bigger it is, the closer he is to dumping us in a French jail and taking the money and a boat home."

"Stern's been straight with us so far."

"I can feel it my bones. He's going to get us primed for something that is going to get the local talent upset, and then he's going to sacrifice us."

"Aw, Annie. You're just tired is all. You just need to get out of this hole in the wall."

She stood and looked down at him. His long fingers moved restlessly on the glass. She retrieved the bottle from the kitchen and poured more in. "If I'm right, we need a way out."

His gaze rose to hers, his dark eyes were a warm, liquid brown. "I'll take care of you, lass. You know I will."

They raised their glasses in a mock salute.

* * *

Erik stepped quickly up to the door of his home. The late afternoon sun reflected gold off of the window to the parlor. Etienne had left the door unlocked. He pushed it open and stepped inside holding it for Emily.

Skirt caught in one hand and the basket in the other, she breezed passed him and into the kitchen. Erik closed the door. With a soft click, the quiet of the house replaced the noises of the world outside. He slipped the hat off of his head, careful not to dislodge wig or mask in the process. Tossing it onto a chair in the parlor, he followed Emily to the kitchen.

Inside, she had sat the basket on the small table and was putting their glasses and cutlery into the sink. He moved to the counter next to her and placed a hand on it, watching her brisk and efficient movements as she worked. "Can I help?"

"No, I've got it. I don't want to leave a mess for Agnes."

He glanced at his pocket watch. It was only four o'clock. "Do you want something to drink?" He took out a glass and searched the ice box. "There's still some lemonade."

"That's fine." She sat the dishes aside and took the glass he offered.

Erik pulled her into the hallway. "Let's go upstairs."

Entering the study, they both collapsed onto the sofa. Emily tucked herself against his left arm. In one short afternoon she'd pulled him out of his house and out of the shell he built around himself.

"The sun makes me tired," she said. "That field reminded me of home, except it would have been planted in corn that would grow as tall as you."

"That is what Ohio looks like?"

"Mmmm. Probably looks just like that right now." The curtains billowed, a slash of sunlight lanced across the floor. "Do you remember anything of your home?"

Images flashed by: His mother's kitchen. A mahogany bedstead with a blue coverlet. The sound of her voice. The end of a song from the piano downstairs.

"I can remember my room. Mother wanted me to stay there. I only got to come downstairs when it was time to eat. Although, I do remember playing the piano in the sitting room."

"Did she teach you music?"

"No. I listened. Sometimes I'd climb quietly down the stairs and watch her while she played."

He had stopped talking and had closed his eyes. Emily rested her head against his shoulder and sighed as the breeze floated through the study.

"I still don't want…" He gripped her hand. "I still don't want you to see."

She gripped his hand back. "If a person is considered ugly on the outside, it doesn't make them ugly on the inside. I've seen too many beautiful people who are rotten. They use their faces as their masks to the world."

Emily sat up and turned around. She looked at the pain that seeped behind his frozen features. His intelligent eyes examined her. She leaned towards him, her stomach fluttering. "Do you have a cravat?"

Unsure of why she asked, he answered. "Yes."

"Bring one here."

He searched her eyes, then got up and went to his bedroom. Emily sat perched on the edge of the sofa until he returned. He'd given her something today--trust on a level that she felt instinctively was more than he had extended to anyone before. It was time to give him something in return.

He stood by the sofa with the length of material in his hand. She smiled and patted the spot next to her. As he sat, she slid around on the sofa next to him on her knees and leaned forward. Taking the silken material in two hands, she stretched it before her. Closing her eyes, she whispered, "Blindfold me."

His heart began to hammer as he took the material from her small hands. She bowed her head as he passed it behind her, tying it off. Like the gilded statues of the women that knelt below the boxes in the Opera, she sat mute and waiting. Her lips curved slowly in a smile. One of her hands lifted, relaxed and waiting.

He understood the gesture. With shaking hands, he pulled the leather from his face and placed it carefully in her hand. One of her fingers curled through the eyehole. Her other hand came up, following the curve of his shoulder to his neck. She leaned forward, offering her mouth.

It was the slowest, sweetest kiss they had shared, because she dropped the mask and lifted her other hand to his face. Touching him lightly, she sighed against his lips and held his head in her hands.


	15. Quiet Touches

**Chapter Fourteen: Quiet Touches**

_Interlude: Erik_

_You must be beside yourself with anticipation. I remember I was. In the span of a few hours I had left my home and opened up my past to Emily._

_Once I began speaking, my rage resurfaced, only to ebb away as I saw the tears in her eyes for me. I knew there was more she needed to know, but the truth was that we both needed time. _

_She had asked for that, and I struggled to comply. The years of waiting lay heavily upon me, but I wanted to allow her the time to examine what I had revealed to her. She had been appalled at my childhood, a compassionate person would be. But, would she understand the story of the Phantom? Revealing circumstances beyond your control is one thing. Admitting spending your energy in madness and passionately clinging to a dream is more difficult._

_When she asked for a cravat and held it before her eyes, I understood that we had taken another step. This was a shared intimacy that few lovers would ever find._

She placed a kiss on his left temple, feeling the pounding of his pulse in the vein under her lips. His skin had a strange texture under her fingers, his cheek a sharp angle. She rested her forehead against his, giving him time to relax under her hands, the warmth of their bodies and these quiet touches.

A lion gentled by a lamb, Erik held still. The air moved lazily across his exposed cheek, followed by Emily's fingertips. It did not feel as much an exploration: rather it was a caress. Her touch was so light, so gentle, _so loving_. Dread gave way to intoxicating wonder.

"Why are you here?" Erik said turning her in his arms, and pulling her onto his lap. She slid onto it, keeping in the curve of his arm like a child.

"In France or on your lap?"

"Both."

"I applied and got the job. France was a big birthday present for me."

He'd never asked her. "When was your birthday?"

"April 14th. I'm 28 now. How old are you?"

"Close to forty. I was born when there was snow on the ground in January."

One hand cupping the back of her neck, he backed away from her face. She tilted her face in response, and he took her bottom lip gently between his teeth, his tongue glided along it.

His mouth came crashing down upon hers. _Open for me, Emily. _For a breathless eternity he kissed her, explored her,and dominated her. His hands moved restlessly over her, alternately moving down her back, and then up to her throat, behind her head to hold her steady as his tongue ravished her mouth.

The feel of her lips moving, her teeth gently graze the side of his neck, and her soft breathing urged him on. They were hampered by her position on his lap. He slid an arm under her legs, one around her shoulders and lifted her. Sliding to the edge of the sofa and on to his knees, he lay her down, joining her on the plush Persian rug.

Emily felt the carpet, his body against the length of hers, she explored with her hands, finding him as he lay next to her. He rolled her against himself and lay for a long moment, his breath hot on her shoulder. He put an arm under her to pillow her head as they stayed close.

"Is De La Shaumette your family name?"

"No. I don't want any part of that name."

"Have you ever…?"

"No. They didn't search for me, either."

"Griggs isn't my name. It's actually Smith. But not really. My Father's family wanted an American name. He wouldn't even teach us any of his language when we were children. The only word he ever used was "ma zjena". It means "my wife".

"Ma zjena," he tested the word.

She tugged at his collar. "Ma Charmanté is fine."

"All right, floo-zee," he teased.

Her chin raised a notch. "You're still jealous because Charles kissed me first."

It was his turn. Leaning close he nibbled her ear. "He thinks you are a fine fil-lee."

She let out a small gasp. "Where did you get… Chase Kennard!"

He smothered her outburst with another kiss. Finding her ear, he also found he could make her squirm. One of her hands rested on his chest, his dropped to her waist and made the slow journey up her ribs, to find her soft breast.

She let her arm relax, out of his hand's way. A small gasp escaped her as his hand gently kneaded her, stoked her. He trailed a line of kisses down the side of her face; he nuzzled the soft flesh that covered her arching neck.

His fingertips brushed the soft mound of her breast and rested on the hard peak under the material of her blouse. He knew the satisfaction that it was his touch, his hand that made her body want more of the pleasure that he could bring her. Erik watched her face. He wished he could see her eyes under the folded silk that covered them.

"Woman, marry me." He could not have stopped the words.

Emily stilled, feeling his eyes on her. On the floor, on a carpet, he'd proposed. In the course of only a few weeks they had gone from business at the desk to love on the rug. "Is that a sincere proposal?"

Erik watched her, considering what sort of answer to give her.

Her lips twisted in a smirk. "I'd always thought I'd tell my grandchildren how romantic it was to be proposed to," she said lightly. "I never though it would happen on a rug."

Even without seeing her eyes, he could feel a change in her. She would not be having any children. He tightened his arms around her. "I'd give you children if we could." He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. "We can adopt."

Her hand rested on his waist. He pushed himself up on an elbow, looking down at her. "Marry me before I die."

She reached out, finding his arm and sat up. "What?" she demanded.

"I love you, Emily," he waved a hand in the air. "We can have a long engagement, but …" He paused considering her face. "I'm a man. I want what a man wants."

"Ah," she responded.

There seemed to be a wealth of meaning in that sound. Oh God. He felt he knew what that meant now. "I mean, I want what a husband wants. I want you here. I want to be with you all the time." He wound an arm around her shoulders and held her gently. "I don't want to be interrupted by that damned door."

"Oh," she commiserated, reaching out and nearly bumping his nose. Erik caught her hand. "I'm glad I asked to take this slowly," she murmured.

He chewed the inside of his lip, pondering how embarrassing this was. He decided to regroup his forces. "Do you know I love you?"

Her head tilted again, tucking her chin against his shoulder demurely. "Are you sure?"

His gaze bored into the folds of silk, roamed over her gentle features that he had learned so well with lips and fingertips. Covering her eyes, she had foregone the visual experience for the chance to let him express "I'm certain."

"Don't you want more time to …think about it? I mean to say, you probably haven't gotten out and met many women."

"I don't want any other women," he groused.

Perhaps he should marshal his troops for a different assault. Tucking an arm around her, he rolled her beneath him. Settling his weight carefully over her. Her legs cradled him. Her body molded along the curves and hollows of him. So sweetly trusting, accepting.

"Your mask can't be your shield anymore," she said softly.

He found himself incapable of an answer. Reaching for his face, she cupped his twisted cheek in her hand. "You understand? Your face is not an outward portrait of what is inside you. You can't keep that part away from me because it is covered. It's in Charles isn't it?"

"Yes," he admitted. "Charles walks the old shadows."

Erik looked down at her face. Beyond them lay the curved leather than represented so much of what he hid from the rest of the world. Even with her eyes covered, she could see more than most people had ever tried.

Emily lay in his arms. Erik brushed a hand down her arm, lifting her hand to kiss her upturned palm. She offered so much. Had she asked for anything in return?

Like a heavy curtain, his memories hung between them. The cravat would block the light from her eyes, but the memories would sweep between them, dimming what they shared.

Despite her acceptance, it was time to come to a decision. He would not be free until the past was gone, ripped away to allow the two of them to go on with their lives.

He could see the past. Like the contrast between her light skin and the rich red of the carpet below her, he was a different man from the one who had worn a white skull mask and a red velvet suit. So much came tumbling back, the cold, the bleeding red. A white paper with a grinning red skull. The crushed petals of the red rose, falling from his clentched hands like drops of blood on the cold snow. White pages covered with the notes of music than poured from him like blood.

"Do you know that I will spend all the days of my life loving you?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Very well." He got up from the floor and took her hand, lifting her up. Turning he grasped his mask and then guided her to his desk and sat her down.

"What are you doing?" Emily asked, her face swiveling to follow the sound of his steps.

He unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and sat the manuscript he'd been writing on the blotter. Positioning the mask over his face, he ran a finger along the edge, making sure it sealed against the skin.

He stepped behind Emily to tug off the cravat. She blinked and looked up at him questioningly. He indicated the stack of papers on the desk.

Emily examined the pages. He'd been busy with his Remington. Neatly spaced lines of type covered the stack of pages.

Erik gave her a quick, but passionate kiss. "I'll be waiting," he told her, then turned and left the room.

Looking back at the papers, Emily began to read. It started with his childhood memories, and ran through the episode he told her of. And then it continued in Paris…

Erik sat on stairs by the study door. He could hear her blowing her nose. His past had brought her tears. The light in the stair well dimmed when he heard the desk chair move and Emily's footfalls.

Her hair was loose from the cravat, floating in snakelike wisps around her fiery eyes. She held up a sheet of paper. "You were going to kill her young man, weren't you?" Before he could speak she stepped out into hall. "What on earth possessed you? What was she supposed to do?" Emily stopped, posing with a finger on her chin. "Oh," she simpered. "This one's dead, I'll just move on to the next man?"

Erik got slowly to his feet. She'd sat a hand on her hip. Was that a habit when she was angry? Maybe she was reaching for her gun. Before he could frame an answer she dropped her hands and turned back to the study.

She whirled on him as he approached the door. "My God, do you really believe that she would love you after you killed her young man?" He waited, hoping she would give him some clue as to how to answer her. She did.

Emily threw up her hands and made a disgusted noise. "They would have sent you to prison," she stormed. "Or worse!" She closed her eyes and shook her head. How could he? If he'd killed this Raoul, he wouldn't be here now. She glanced at him, standing stoically silent within the frame of the door.

She didn't look happy, but she wasn't trying to escape out of the window either. At least if she was angry at him, it meant that she loved him. She drew out a long sigh, taking the paper back to the desk. "Shut the door on your way out," she growled. Erik turned to leave but she stopped him. "Is there anything to eat?"

He looked passed her at the windows. It was nearly full dark. "I'll go look."

"And tea? Please?"

"Certainly."

He pulled the door closed, and stood staring at it for a moment before he could move.

Emily took the last pages and sat in the fireside chair near the gas lamp. Curling her feet under her, she finished the last pages of the story of a man she hardly knew, but had glimpsed. He was lurking in the commanding voice, lingering in the simmering anger.

His reticence to be seen made much more sense now. He wasn't hiding Charles; he was hiding the man people called the Phantom.

It was an amazing story, fit to be a novel. Except it was the history of a real child who had never known love. She blew her nose again and waited for him to return.

Erik glanced in the pantry, foraging while the water heated. He found a tray Agnes stored next to the wall and put a plate with a slice of cake on it. He found some Earl Grey tea that Emily had brought over and brewed it for her.

Lifting the tray, he climbed the stairs.

She opened the door as he approached the last step. Standing aside she waited for him to place the tray on the desk. It seemed an eternity before he turned to look at her. The mask is what she saw first, but waited until he turned the full affect of his glittering eyes on her. Despite being breathless, she still felt the impact of those beautiful eyes and the emotions that filled them.

"Play something for me," she asked softly.

Erik's heart hammered in his throat. What he chose might make all the difference in the world.

* * *

A/N: Sorry the updates are spaced so far apart. I've had some personal problems which have been intruding.  



	16. Who's There?

**Chapter Fifteen: Who's There?**

Chase Kennard lounged against the front desk as the concierge checked for messages. A woman walked by, the rustle of the short train of her day dress accentuated her steps. Green eyes took him in swiftly from head to toe. A coy smile lifted one corner of her mouth.

Tipping his hat, he smiled warmly at the lady. She appeared to have a ring on her finger under her lace gloves. It didn't make a difference. "Madame," he drawled letting his Texas accent color his French.

She lifted an eye brow and proceeded to the stairs. "Monsieur," she purred.

Chase accepted the envelopes from the concierge and took the stairs two at a time. Stopping on the landing, there was no trace of the woman. Smiling, he went to his room and pushed open the door.

She sat on his bed, withdrawing her gloves; a faint smile was all he saw under the brim of her hat. "Hello, Annie. Still opening hotel doors?"

"In one fashion or another," she teased. "Does your offer still stand?"

"Absolutely. I'm bringing Sterns in and this time he goes to prison. How many of you go with him is up to you."

"I'm tired of France and I'm tired of Sterns. Can we work a deal for Jim Burns as well?"

Chase pondered her request. Annie was the canniest of the bunch; she knew when things were heating up. "I'll see what I can do. He'll have to turn himself in though."

"Fair enough," Annie replied. "Jim's not much for the police."

"I'm not the police Annie. The Pinkertons follow the law as well as enforce it. No bribes and no deals unless it helps to close the case."

She let out a tired laugh. "What'd Sterns do that go you riled up?" Looking at the man's eyes, she watched them hard and dangerous. It was said the Pinkertons never slept until they got their man.

"Enough," he retorted. "He did enough."

* * *

Emily couldn't help but feel a new fluttering inside of her. For the longest time there had been a missing part of Erik, and now she knew what it was. He was letting her see into his soul.

Watching Erik was puzzling. He seemed contained, capable, and complete. But always, Emily had sensed there was some part of him that was held in reserve. Shimmering along the edges was the part of himself that he had held in reserve.

The ghost.

Erik turned; a faint curve lifted the corner of his lips before the mask hid the rest of his face as he moved towards the piano. He sat on the bench, resting a hand upon it and turned to glance back at Emily.

"Will you join me?" There was a teasing insinuation in his tone. Emily glanced at his strong, capable fingers resting on the bench and the inviting glance he gave her. Is this the promise that draws the moth, she wondered.

_Come, Emily_, he willed her. _Come and let me seduce you as you have never been before._

"I've been working on something," he began.

Going to the piano, she stopped by the bench, looking down at him as his hands dropped slowly to rest lightly on the cool ivory keys. He took a breath, closing his eyes, the maestro preparing for the performance.

"I started on this after you arrived," he said. "I haven't found the words for it yet." Another slight turn of his head and movement of his shoulders. "Shall we write them together?"

The first part of the song wound slowly around her, enveloping her in a sweet and gentle wave that built to something that filled the room, pulling her in it's undertow towards an ocean so deep, she could float forever in its warm embrace.

Erik let the music flow, its clear emotion washing away the last worries, the strongest fears. This was the small bright flame that God had given him. This was the only way he had been able to express what lay inside.

The space he'd left for her waited forlornly. She sat on the bench, scooting back to allow him elbow room. His thigh brushed hers and she stifled the urge to grin. Thunderation, but the man was determined to tempt her.

Was it folly to sit here? Drawn by the music and the passionate musician, she realized what the term bewitched truly felt like. Not only was he removing the obstacles between them, he was allowing her a glimpse into his deepest yearnings. The man who gave life to such heartfelt songs told stories that all the words that men spoke could not.

He neither apologized nor denied what he had done. He offered himself to her as what he was, a man with a flawed past.

The song stopped and his hand dropped to hers. "The song is yours Emily. You brought it to me in a dream."

"Really?"

He shook his head slowly. "You said, _A Quiet Heart_. Ever since that night, my heart stopped to listen."

They were close. She only needed to lean forward a little and his lips would meet hers.

From downstairs came a sharp wrap at the front door, followed by the sound of a key in the lock. Her eyes had fluttered closed, but snapped open. "Is that…"

"Javier," Erik finished.

Emily's eyebrows went up. "Back to work?"

He exhaled sharply. "We'll never be alone."

"We'll just have to learn to hide better," she smiled.

He heard the teasing insinuation in her voice and lifted a finger. "I'll remember you suggested that."

Erik helped her to her feet and went to the study door awaiting Javier.

The Spaniard paused at the top of the stairs casting a glance at the study. "Sorry to interrupt, but I think one of our sources has found the forger."

Erik rested a hand on the door frame. "Very good. Do you know where the man might be?"

Javier smirked. "I wouldn't interrupt for anything less," he replied. In a louder voice he added, "Sorry Emily!"

She appeared behind Erik a moment later. "No you aren't," she accused.

Javier turned on his most winning smile. "Querida. We get this business over with and you two will be free to…" He waggled his eyebrows.

Free? Erik was still wondering what Emily was thinking. She had asked for a window into his past. What started a trickle had turned into a torrent. He glanced at her, wondering what was going on behind her eyes. He really should allow her time to examine her feelings now that she knew all of its sordid details. "Perhaps it is for the best."

Emily nodded. Today had been almost overwhelming now that it was drawing to a close. So many things would be tumbling over in her mind: The phantom, the deaths, and his obsession with Christine. How had he brought all this to a close? Or had he?

Javier made a noise. "I'll wait for you downstairs, Emily. I can take you home in the carriage." He turned and headed downward.

Standing in the door, the cursed mask was towards Emily again. Erik took a step out onto the landing; he wanted her to see both parts of him. He would have lifted a hand as Emily stepped forward, but held it at his side. It was better to let her make her own decisions at this point without trying to influence her feelings.

She didn't smile, but her eyes searched his. Emily's small hand lifted to rest against the center of his chest over his wildly beating heart.

"I'll listen," she whispered. She turned, her fingers brushing his ribs as she started down the stairs.

He reached and brushed the tips of her fingers. He'd be listening as well, and waiting. When Javier returned, he'd be ready to find the forger. Once the gang was rounded up and Kennard was gone, he and Emily would be finally have the chance to be together.

* * *

Javier returned from the crowded bar, passing Erik a folded up piece of paper. In his disguise as Martin he leaned against a wall, listening to the latest story from one of the other boat captains. After supplying the required comments to the man's tale, he excused himself and went to join Javier.

Opening the paper by one of the street lamps he saw it was from the Pinkerton agent. "Kennard has found Annie Reilly. He wants to put her up someplace safe."

"Your hotel?" Javier suggested.

"That would be logical," Erik replied. "Where is the forger?"

Javier tossed his head towards the river. "Over at the boarding house on the Rue De La Rabine."

They turned as one and started walking. Despite the turmoil of the day, Erik felt rejuvenated. If Kennard brought in the woman, and he had the forger in hand, he might get this business sorted out by the end of the month.

By September he should be able to extract a yes from Emily and be on the way to the Registrar's to get married.

As they crossed the Seine, he wondered if she would prefer a church wedding.

* * *

"Front door?" Javier queried.

With a curt nod Erik replied, "I'll watch the back stairs."

Taking in the nasty grin that spread over his bosses' features, Javier grinned in return. "Just like old times, eh? I flush him out, and you catch him as he attempts to wiggle away."

"Not like Formerie where they chased you down the front stairs."

"His wife had a butcher knife," Javier protested.

Erik snorted. "You carry a knife in your boot, Javier."

The Spaniard squared his shoulders. "I don't get rough with women." He started towards the building's front door muttering, "And hers was bigger."

Erik rested a forearm on the railing and a boot on the bottom stair. Examining the scuffs on the toe, he listed for faint footfalls and creaking doors. When the first telltale movement of air displaced by a door reached him, he melted backwards into the shadows of the alley.

Ned Darlington had just finished frying some sausages and eggs when a knock sounded at his front door. He hastily wiped his hands on a towel. If it was that busybody from next door to borrow something again, he'd send her home empty handed. However, if it were that voluptuous goddess from down the hall…he brushed a hand over his hair and straightened his cravat.

A man stood in the hallway. "De Grace?" he asked.

Ned sped a glance down either side of the doorway, the man was alone. "Yes."

"Can we talk…business?" Straight white teeth smiled from the tan face. From his dark coloring the man looked like a Spanish grandee Ned had seen in a painting.

"I w-work a-a-at the mill." Under duress his stammer was coming out. He cursed himself.

"Ah, yes," Javier purred. "Perhaps I have mistaken you for someone else." He paused to look the man over. He didn't seem the type that would give Erik real trouble. Besides, Erik would enjoy it. "My apologies." He turned and walked slowly down the stairs.

Ned closed the door, but held it cracked long enough to be sure the man was leaving. As he feared, the fellow paused on the next landing. He might be waiting for friends to join him, friends Ned wouldn't want to meet.

Damn Sterns! He was never around when the trouble started. The Spaniard was probably in one of the local French syndicates. They wouldn't be happy with the gang picking the bones of their territories clean.

Ned grabbed his coat and wallet. Exiting his door he went the other way on the landing, heading for the back stairs.

With each creaking stair, he was certain he would be grabbed by the collar by someone pursuing him. When he reached the outer door, he pushed it open slowly. Mercifully the hinges didn't squeak. He shrugged his coat on and started down the alley.

He nearly leaped aside when a voice growled in his left ear, "Leaving so soon, Monsieur?"

In the darkness he could barely make out the other man. He had no trouble feeling the hand that had clamped down on his upper arm, guiding him back towards the building. "W-w-what do you w-w-want?"

"To talk, Monsieur Darlington." Erik gave a hard yank at the man's arm as he felt him start to pull away. With a lift he propelled Darlington quickly towards the back door where Javier now lounged, cleaning his fingernails with his knife.

Ned took one look at the glint off the knife and fainted.

Erik felt the man falling, and braced him up against a wall to keep him upright. With a sigh he eased the man downward into a sitting position. Stepping back, he cast a glance at Javier who looked unimpressed.


	17. What's In A Name?

**A/N: Thanks everyone for your patience. I believe we are ready to embark once again...  
**

**Chapter Sixteen: What's In A Name?**

Javier sat down on a step and waited. Erik leaned against the back of the building, glancing up to see the first stars winking in the sky above. He never tired of seeing the stars.

Darlington took in a breath and sat up. Before he could get his feet under him Erik took a hold of the shoulder of his jacket and pulled him to his feet. The American blinked, looking around the gathering darkness. Javier got up and ambled over, catching hold of the other shoulder.

"Come on, Monsieur," Erik said pointing him physically towards the other end of the alley. "Let's get to the boat."

Ned Darlington's mind raced. For the thousandth time he cursed his limited French vocabulary. "W-what d-do you want?" When neither one of his captors replied, he tried again, "I-I don't know anything."

Javier glanced behind the man's shoulders at Erik, giving him a wink. "Ned," he said companionably. "May I call you Ned?"

As the American bobbed his head, Javier added, "Is that a nickname?"

"Ed-ward."

Erik glanced at Javier, who was doing his best to look confused.

"If your name is Edward, but your nickname is Ned, then wouldn't that mean your name should be Nedward?" Javier rolled his eyes. "I don't understand you English. Take my name for instance…" He was still talking when they paced single file along an unstable looking plank that stretched from the stone quay to the deck of the _Erebus_.

Erik opened the cabin door and proceeded to light one of the lamps. He gestured towards a stool that sat next to the table as Javier propelled Darlington into the cabin. Taking the meaning of the gesture, the American went and took a seat.

"Relax, Darlington. The Pinkerton Agent asked for you to be brought in."

"P-P-Pinkerton?" Ned felt light-headed. They'd finally been tracked down. His one hope was that they got Sterns as well. If he was going to rot in a French prison, he might as well not go alone. At least it wasn't one of the French syndicates that had found him.

Ned had the chance to get a better look at the Spaniard's companion. He seemed unremarkable except for the black cloth that covered the larger right side of his face, and the sharp green eye that pinned him to the stool.

The man with half a face spoke, "There is bunk in the back of the cabin. I suggest you use it."

Ned watched the two men retreat out of the door. He heard footsteps on the plank, and then the sound of it rasping over the stone as it was pulled onto the deck. He hoped the Spaniard was the one that stayed behind. The door opened, dashing his hopes. He retreated to the back of the cabin and lay down.

Erik made a bed on the floor of the forward section. Lying on his back, this was the second time in a few months that he'd been forced back onto the boat at night. It had been Emily that had been in the back cabin the last time. He wished fervently that it was this time as well.

Today had amazed him. A lifetime spent learning to conceal every aspect of his life was tossed aside as casually as one might toss that ugly hat away. No, he thought, not tossed aside, it was spread at Emily's feet. He'd made an offering that turned into a confession of everything he had hoped to never have to reveal to her.

What was she feeling now that she knew about the Phantom?

* * *

The train pulled into the station three minutes early. Henri Capegon checked his pocket watch against the time displayed upon the face of the station's clock.

Doors swung open along the platform as passengers disembarked the train. Trolleys rolled past piled with portmanteaus and trunks. A striking couple strolled along the platform towards him. He'd only ever seen a tintype photo of Annie Reilly. It did not do the woman justice. Heads turned to glance at her red locks, lively green eyes and finely formed features.

Chase had dealt with her before in America. He'd shown her photograph to him, saying Annie was the product of the Irish slums of Boston. As cold and hard as the japanned tin that her likeness had been captured upon.

As Chase introduced her, Henri removed his hat and greeted her cordially. A beautiful creature, she was none the less a deadly one. Her betrayal of her compatriots meant her thirty pieces of silver would be conduct out of France. But criminals were not reliable people; she might change her mind again.

Henri smiled at Chase. "The papers have arrived."

Chase nodded. It was an agreed upon message-Martin had found Ned Darlington. "Good. Have you made arrangements for Mademoiselle Reilly?"

"Yes. De La Shaumette has put a suite at the Hotel Fordais at our disposal."

"Excellent," Chase replied. "I'll have to thank him next time I see him."

Henri thought it odd that Chase mentioned a meeting. Considering Annie Reilly's sharp eyes, perhaps it wasn't so odd after all.

* * *

Ned Darlington awoke to the smell of coffee. Getting up off of the bunk, he shrugged his suspenders back up over his shoulders and tossed on his shirt. Running a hand through his hair, he peeked around the partition that separated the cabin.

The Spaniard was back. "Have some coffee, Ned," he said gaily.

"Thank you," Ned muttered.

The Spaniard offered him a cup and motioned him towards the table. "I brought some croissants."

Ned sipped the coffee gratefully. He wished for a slab of ham and three eggs cooked so the yolks were hard, and maple syrup dripping off of flapjacks. Mostly, he wished for home. He turned to the Spaniard. "How did you find me?"

Javier considered how much to tell the man. "The Pinkerton put out the word to keep an eye open for anyone near the factories. He came to our boss, and here you are."

"Who do you work for?"

"De La Shaumette, perhaps you've heard of him?"

Ned stared at the man. If they worked for that fellow, then the half faced man was… "Martin?"

Javier grinned at the lack of color in Ned's face. "In the flesh. He's not really as brutal as the rumors say. But he does have a viscous streak when he's perturbed." He paused, "Why Ned. You look a little pale. Are you feeling all right?"

"He w-won't…he won't be back will he?"

Javier smacked his lips after finishing his coffee. "Any minute."

The minutes stretched out, and Ned sat at the table, miserably nursing his coffee until he heard footfalls on the deck. Incredibly, it wasn't Martin who filled the door.

This must be Kennard. Javier took in the man's appearance. He looked like one of those western gunfighters from Emily's books. And she was correct, he was a good looking man from what Javier had learned women found attractive. He'd have to have a talk with Sophie again. Maybe invite her for a nice, _private_ dinner somewhere.

"Edward Darlington?" Chase Kennard asked.

"Yes."

"I am Albert Kennard of the Pinkerton Detective agency."

Javier swallowed his sip of coffee. Albert? How could Sophie be impressed by an Albert? No wonder the man went by a nickname.

Chase turned to the Spaniard. "Fernandez?"

Javier shook hands with the man, gripping a little tighter than usual. "Javier Isandro Galvan Fernandez, at your service. Albert." He kept his face expressionless.

Chase turned to the door, a rustling of a woman's skirt preceded Annie as she stepped carefully into the cabin.

Darlington's mouth drew down. "I figured you'd be trouble."

Annie tsked. "For a smart man, you aren't living up to that intelligence of yours."

"At least I'm not ratting anyone out."

She sneered dismissively. "Joe's on a rapidly sinking ship, Ned. Me and Jim are goin' to turn evidence. Take a hint, and follow or be prepared to speak French to your jailors."

"She's right in that respect," added Kennard. "When Stern's finds you gone, he may strike out alone. We may never find him, and he'll have left you holding the bag."

"You have no evidence," Ned replied softly, eyeing Annie in hopes she had given them none.

"Nope," Kennard replied. "But if I'm correct, neither of you has enough money to buy a ticket back to the States."

"I'm not stayin' here, Ned," Annie added. "Joe's stain' in hotels while we're living in run down little apartments doing his chores until the next 'big one'. I stuck my neck out, far out," she accentuated her words with her hands, "'an I'm worried, Ned. If he has trouble fencing the jewelry, he may leave us behind and move on."

Despite his distaste for Annie's actions, Ned had to agree. "Alright. What do we do?"

* * *

Erik stepped inside the dim storefront. Milling before a shelf, he picked up a can and sat it down again. Glancing towards the brightly lit window at the store's front, he started walking down the isle until he reached the back office. One sharp knock and he turned the handle.

Varlin sat at a desk, papers stood in three neat stacks. "Come in, Martin." He waved Erik towards the other chair in the room.

"We picked up Darlington last night. The American detective should be with him right now."

"Perfect."

"He also stopped at Abbeville and picked up Annie Reilly."

Varlin eyes lit with interest. "Have you seen her?"

Erik shook his head. "Not yet. She's going to have a room at the Fordais. Why?"

Verlin grinned. "She's beautiful according to what I hear."

Erik snorted. "Perhaps. But she is definitely treacherous, she's turning on Sterns."

Varlin waved a hand in a negligent gesture. "Such is the way it goes. They must know by now that the Pinkerton as well as all the syndicates are on the look out for them. One of their group will be glad to to turn on them for the chance to survive."

Conducting business with Varlin along the fringes of his organization, Erik could remember incidences that resulted from angering the Coquillards. There were things worse than winding up in a jail.

* * *

Chase sat across from Darlington. "What did Sterns have you working on?"

The door to the cabin swung open. The half-faced man strode in. The tightness in Ned's gut made him start to stutter once again. "I w-was to get a job at one of the factories. Sterns wanted m-more paste diamonds."

Chase turned to acknowledge the man's arrival. "What was he going to do with the paste? Send Annie in with more rings?"

"Probably. He uses either Annie or Jim. Tully's not as fluent in French."

Chase snorted. "Tully's got the finesse of an elephant."

Ned smiled. "Yeah, he didn't come by that broken nose because he was being smooth."

Chase shot a glance at Martin and Fernandez. Switching to French he told them, "He says he was to make more paste."

Annie had her back to the cabin door, but turned to see the newest arrival. With a lifted brow and a half smile she turned, showing her figure in profile to her best advantage. Taking in the figure of the man at the door, she realized she needn't have bothered.

There was an unnatural stillness to him, as if all the life inside him had been carefully pulled inside a shell and locked down. His uncovered eye glittered like glass betraying no interest in her. Who ever he was, she sensed he was not a man who could be swayed by coy smiles and flattering attention. She could expect no easy sexual interest from him, he was much too controlled to allow himself to fall into her hands.

Chase Kennard said something to the man, introducing him as Martin. His keen eye took her in, dismissing her completely. She was nothing but a detail, a complication, not even human. Despite the heat of the first day of August, Annie felt cold.


	18. Pressures

**Seventeen: Pressures**

"Ned says Sterns sent him here for more Paste," Chase said, returning to French for Erik and Javier.

Erik looked both of the people over slowly, from Darlington who seemed already tense to Annie and back to Darlington. Concentrating on the man, Ned began to shift on the stool. The silence in the cabin was only interrupted by the creak of the boat as it sat slewing in the Seine's currents.

Annie's stance shifted, but Erik exhaled and stared through her.

Javier, however, turned up his charming smile a degree. With a nudge, Erik got his attention. To his credit, Javier picked up his cue immediately and followed Erik out onto the deck of the boat.

Pacing up the gang plank, Erik waited for Javier to catch up. Javier looked along the edge of the river. "Giving them time to hang themselves?"

Erik folded his arms over his chest. "A little pressure applied at the precise moment…"

"What do you think they are thinking?"

"We are going to make them wonder if the Pinkerton is the only person we are working with. You are going for a short walk. Hopefully they will interpret your action as one of preparing to tell someone else their whereabouts."

Javier grinned. "You are evil, you know that?"

Erik raised an eyebrow. "Why, Javier. Have I ever done anything to you…"

The Spaniard turned and stomped off. "Don't even get me started!"

* * *

Chase Kennard stood with his back towards the cabin door. From the look in Annie and Ned's eyes, the handsome Spaniard was not the one who returned. Annie's glance was cool, but she was practiced at deceiving people. Ned, however, was not. He studied the surface of the table in the silence.

Chase asked Ned, "You did the forgeries for the bank in Arras?"

Darlington rubbed his chin. "Yes."

"Why did Sterns bring you to Rouen?"

"Just moving us. He wanted more Paste."

Erik leaned back and rested his weight against the cabinets opposite the table where he could clearly be seen by Darlington as well as Kennard. He crossed his feet at the ankles, almost touching the hem of Annie's dress. "He could have gone to a blacksmith for heat for the paste. Why a factory?"

Kennard watched Darlington. "He wanted something else didn't he?"

Ned shook his head. "N-not that I know of."

Annie made a disgusted noise. "Ned, what information you can give him is all that's keeping us out of jail."

He cast a withering glance at Annie. "All you want is to pull Jim away from Sterns."

Her lovely features twisted. "Don't be an fool," she spoke in a low voice. Her eyes slid quickly to the man with the masked features and back to Ned's face. "Sterns was going to leave us behind here."

"Joe wouldn't…"

"Wouldn't what? Keep us guessing what's next? Keep us busy doing petty crimes while he cooks up the big one and divide the purse between him and Tully? You know how close the two of them work."

"Like you and Jim," Darling accused.

Annie lifted her hands and dropped them in exasperation. "You see," she spat at Kennard. "Your only hope of catching Sterns is for me to go to Jim and find out from him." She lifted her chin. "Ned's useless."

The cabin was getting warmer, and Erik felt the mid-morning August sun was not the only reason. Kennard tapped the top of the table drawing the two crook's attention. "I need something solid, now. Every day that slips by means Sterns will be closer to realizing that you've been picked up."

The air in the cabin should have been misted in ice crystals between Annie and Ned. "One man will be almost impossible to find," Chase added slowly.

Ned flicked a glance his direction. Annie crossed her arms and glared at Darlington. She finally relented and turned to Kennard. "Let me go to Jim Burns. I'll get from him what's going on with Joe. He's closer to him than we are," she waved a hand indicating Ned.

Kennard turned to Erik. "Darlington will stay here. I'll take Annie on to the Hotel."

Ned felt a moment of panic. "How long will I stay here?"

Kennard put on his hat. "Until we get Sterns." He turned, gathering Annie by the arm and led her out of the cabin.

Erik walked to the table and sat across from Darlington. Ned's lips were drawn in a thin, flat line.

"She seems to think she has more cards to play with than you, Monsieur Darlington," he said quietly.

Ned rubbed his neck and sat with his elbows on the table. "She's always been trouble."

"How so?"

Ned shrugged. "She's always arguing with Sterns. If it weren't for Jim Burns, she'd still be a maid filching money from coat pockets in rooms she was cleaning."

Erik let surprise show on his features. "She has little talent for this game?"

Ned waved a hand at the door. "You got a good look at her. Dress her up in something expensive and turn her loose. She doesn't need talent."

Erik gave an easy shrug. "Perhaps your boss sees some value in her."

Ned snorted. "She's with us 'cause of Jim. He's looked after her all these years."

"What use is she to Sterns?"

Ned looked at the man. "She keeps the law busy elsewhere," he lied. He had little idea of Stern's tactics; he only knew everyone was asking too many questions.

Erik waited patiently. Ned was angry; he could see the tension in the man's face. Any minute Javier would stroll in and he would leave him and Ned alone together. Perhaps a friendly face would lure some more information from the forger.

* * *

The apartment was quiet. Emily gathered the length of her hair and slid combs in it to help hold it up off of her neck. She was going to stop for lunch at Francoise Desloges' to chat and proof read another chapter of her novel. Truthfully, she didn't know if she could pay attention to the story. Another manuscript had captured her imagination.

She lay her brush down on the porcelain tray that rested on her dresser. Erik had sent it to her, one of his myriad of small gifts that kept arriving no matter how many times she reminded him he did not have to.

Things began to make so much more sense now. She'd sat by the open window last night after Olivia and Perrine had gone to bed. Partly to enjoy the cool evening breeze, and partly to think about all that she had leaned that day from Erik.

She'd noticed things, but had never had enough of a picture to put them together. His handwriting was different. Individuality in penmanship had been slapped out of her hand by her schoolmarm's ruler. His sentences were structured as one might read in a book, rather than peppered with vernacular as people would write.

Precise in his etiquette, and commanding in his business affairs, she had thought his social manners were merely his way of conducting business. He always held the upper hand. Even as Martin, he seemed to expect everyone to follow his words to the last detail.

That is where she had her first fleeting glimpse of the Phantom: Commanding, controlling, and demanding.

No wonder he relied upon Javier and Phillipe, and, of course, Martin. His other persona was so far removed from the refined gentleman in the study it would be hard for anyone to accept that he and Martin were the same man.

And now he was three men rolled into one. She'd been kissed by two of them. Had she ever been kissed by the Phantom?

* * *

Javier glanced at his pocket watch. He'd been gone nearly an hour. Erik didn't indicate that he should come back. Perhaps he should check at the house just in case Phillipe needed something.

He swept into De La Shaumette's home, and followed his nose to the kitchen. Peeking inside, Agnes peeled apples at the sink. "How are you this morning, Agnes?"

She glanced over her shoulder with a slight smile. "It's quiet today." She offered him a slice of apple on the end of the paring knife. "Are you going to the river to see the fireworks tonight?"

"I was thinking of asking Sophie."

Agnes set her knife down carefully. "You're spending a lot of time with Mademoiselle Robillard. Does her brother know?"

"Phillipe? He should. She and I have been seeing each other since Emily arrived."

"You've invited both of them to your family's little parties haven't you?"

"Of course."

"So, wouldn't you think that it is possible that Phillipe has not added two and two yet?"

"Well…", Javier made a casual gesture. "Surely he must know."

"Javier, does Sophie know?" Agnes smiled patiently as for once, the normally brash Spaniard looked blankly at her.

"She…, well she must…." He sputtered.

Agnes patted his arm. "You must tell her she is special to you or she may think that you invite them both because you aren't interested in her." She offered him another slice which he took, tucking it in his mouth and turning to leave the kitchen.

Javier took the stairs two at a time and arrived at the study door as Phillipe was going through bills on the desk. He stopped before the desk and set his hands on his hips. "Phillipe."

"Yes?"

Javier opened and then closed his mouth. "Is Sophie going to see the fireworks tonight?"

Phillipe scribbled busily. "I guess so. Some man is taking her."

Javier felt his stomach plummet. "What man? You let your sister go out with a man?"

Phillipe took a moment to scratch his nose. "Um…certainly." He carefully ignored Javier's darkening features.

"That's unheard of! Who is this fellow?" He prowled before the desk. "It isn't that American is it?"

"Hmm?" Phillipe glanced up. "I don't think so."

"Aren't you going to chaperone them?"

Phillipe glanced up. "What for?"

"Phillipe," Javier nearly exploded. "You know how men are. The fellow might try to take advantage of her. Sohphie's very delicate."

Phillipe smiled indulgently as Javier pressed on, "She's like a young tree; blooming, willowy, graceful…"

"Yes," Phillipe drawled. "And just like a sapling, if you bend her too much she'll snap back in your face and break your nose."

"What are you talking about?"

"About my sister. You wanted to know if she was going to the fireworks with a man." Phillipe set the pen he was using down carefully in the inkwell. "Well? Are you taking her out or not?"

Javier gave a quick tug to his vest and smoothed his coat down. "I was thinking about it."

"You'd better go to the shop and ask her. She gets to work around nine-thirty."

Javier nodded and turned towards the door. "I have some errands to run…"

* * *

Annie excepted Chase's offered hand and stepped out of the cab. The Hotel Fordais had a three story light gray brick façade. Window boxes along the first floor were draped in a profusion of blooms.

Chase bypassed the concierge and took her directly up to a third floor room. Henry Capegon had her baggage transferred; it sat just beside the inside of the door. The room was bright and looked adequate. She walked to the drapes to look out at the view, seeing roofs around the Hotel and several streets. A light breeze carried voices up from below her.

"There's a cafe nearby that the staff recommends. Would you care to have dinner with me?" Chase asked, standing just inside her threshold.

Annie turned her smile up a notch. "No guards? Aren't you afraid I'll skedaddle and leave you to run down Sterns?"

Chase shook his head. "Unless I miss my guess, Joe has strung all of you out without the means to buy a ticket to get out of France. You go haring off now you might wind up on your own. The local syndicates aren't much for adopting new blood."

"Really," she replied easily, stepping forwards, her skirts swaying. "And how would a lawman know that?"

Chase examined her beautiful face. "We're two sides of the same coin, Annie. You know that. There isn't a crime out there that we don't know who did it, how they did it, or where the loots's going to next. The difference between the crooks and the law is a very thin line, but a very precise one. I don't take. And you don't give." He stepped into the hall. "That offer still stands. I'll come by at seven if you'd like to go." He closed the door quietly.


	19. Fireworks

**Eighteen: Fireworks**

Laying the wood on the table, Erik busied his hands with sanding down the pieces to a music box he had planned to make for Emily. With each rasp of the sandpaper across the grain, he pictured Emily's face when she'd open the box and hear the song he was writing for her.

Darlington sat, his face bleak until he had seen Erik's project. "Do you nail it or glue it?"

"I nail the pieces and then fill and re-sand the seams. The finish comes out smoother that way," Erik replied.

"Is it going to be a jewelry box?"

"No. It is to be a music box."

Ned stretched and adjusted his position on his stool. "Do you already have a ..ah.."

Ned's French seemed limited. "The movement," Erik interjected. He brushed his hands off on his thighs and went to one of the cabinets, bringing back the heart of the music box. He offered it to Ned who took it gingerly.

Pointing out the parts, Erik gave the man a basic rundown of the piece. "The brail is this cylinder that when turned plucks the comb, these flat metal pieces, producing the notes. This one has 18 combs. In combination they will play the tune."

Ned handed it back. "You've done this before?"

Erik nodded. "Trips along the river can be repetitive. You can only read so many books. I like to keep my hands busy." He liked the music as well, but shied from being seen connected with any instruments. Someone might remember the Phantom as more than a story in the Paris paper.

"Sounds nice."

Erik grinned. "You sound almost envious, Monsieur. How does one learn your trade?"

Ned's face actually broke into a grin. "I worked at a bank for a while. Shuffling a lot of securities and bonds, then checks became popular after the war. Our Civil War," he clarified. "The war changed a lot of things. There was much more money in the North being used to start factories and businesses." He rested his elbows on the table. "You'd be surprised at how little people actually look at the money or papers that they pick up."

No, he wouldn't. He'd gambled many a time that people would see what he wished them to see. "So you learned to produce these objects?"

"My company started a new bank. Since they needed tellers in two places, I was moved to the new one. This fellow came in with a check that looked smudged. I took it, but made note of him and his name. I noticed about every two weeks he'd come in with a check. The money was a bit more than what a paycheck should be, but not really worth bringing up. It wasn't exorbitant. Anyway, I started chatting with the fellow, and one day I saw him while I was at lunch." He stopped and spread his hands. "I have no idea why, I just told him I wanted to know how he made his checks."

"That could have ended badly for you."

"I-I just wanted something else." He looked about the cabin. "I'd still be at that bank if I hadn't have asked."

"This man assisted you?"

"No. He introduced me to some others. To make a long story short, I took all the checks that were passed in return for a chance to forge."

Erik lifted a hand, indicating the morning sun as it streamed into the open cabin door. "Tell the whole story; we have the rest of the day."

* * *

Emily Griggs sat at the kitchen table with Françoise Desloges. She pushed aside the notes she'd made for the draft of the chapter Françoise had finished. Sitting back, she smiled. "Oh, Françoise. I absolutely_ love_ your villains."

Emily waited for their giggles to subside. "These are some points that you might consider expanding a bit more." They poured over the draft, editing line by line.

Françoise sat back and took off her glasses. "I found it really difficult to kill off Lady Emma. But, she was getting mired in what was happening with the vampires. I didn't see how I could save her."

"I was sad to see what happened to her, but it does fit in well with how the plot is starting to accelerate. Are you going to have her family in Britain find out? That could really complicate things."

The other woman smiled shyly. "I've made plans for that, yes."

Emily perked up. "Has it got anything to do with that handsome cousin of hers?"

As Françoise nodded, Emily let out a delighted squeal. "Is he going to get to meet…Her."

"Her. I've found a perfect name for her I think. I want to call her Belladonna."

"You know, as soon as I heard you say that, I felt it was perfect for her. What better name could convey a sense of beauty and danger for a female vampire?" Emily retrieved her little book that she wrote her appointments into to. "Dare I hope that you'll have something else soon?"

With an enigmatic smile Françoise nodded.

* * *

The shop door had been propped open. Although the morning sun would start heating up the pavement in front of the store, the doors ajar kept the air moving. Sophie Robillard waved a feather duster in the front display window, carefully removing any dust that might have settled upon any of the displayed hats.

A shadow fell across the window and she prepared a smile, glancing up, she nearly knocked over the mannequin head with a small feathered day hat upon it. Javier stood outside the window.

Backing out of the window, she smoothed a hand over her hair and licked her lips. He stepped into the door, glancing about. The only customer was an older woman sitting with Madame de Mosny, discussing a repair to a bonnet.

"Hello, Javier," she said. "Have you come about a hat?"

His smile reflected in his dark eyes. "I was going to ask you to see the fireworks tonight."

"Can you see them from your parents' house?" she asked. From what she remembered, the house was too far down the river for a good view.

He shook his head. "I was thinking perhaps we could have dinner at Olivier's, and take in the fireworks from the park."

Sophie was heartily glad that she stood with a hand on the counter. She needed the reassuring firm feel of the wood for support. Javier Fernandez was taking her to dinner. "Certainly, Javier. I'd be delighted."

He reached for her hand and placed a light kiss upon her knuckles. "I'll pick you up? Say seven-thirty?"

"That would be fine," she smiled, watching him turn to leave. When she could no longer see him through the window, she latched onto the counter with both hands. He might have just asked her to sweep the streets of Rouen, and she still would have agreed.

* * *

Chase Kennard stood in the hall, hat in one hand. "Are you ready, Annie?"

She brushed past him with an easy smile. "I was about to start climbing the walls. Nothing is duller than a hotel room." She slid her hand into the crook of his arm.

Appreciative stares followed them out of the hotel. Her dress was an emerald silk that matched her eyes. The décolletage was just low enough to be fashionable, the darker green of the lace at its edge framed the cameo she wore on a gold chain. Pausing at the curb to await a cab, she turned slowly and flicked an imaginary bit of lint from one of the long ruffles that covered the skirt of the gown. Male eyes followed her every move.

She grinned and turned back to the curb.

Standing this close to Chase Kennard, she'd never realized how tall the lawman was. Impeccably dressed, he looked the part of a world traveler rather than a cowboy. "You're from Tennessee, aren't you?"

"Texas, Annie."

She made a show of being impressed. "I knew it was one of those southern states. Are things getting back to normal now that the war is over?"

"As much as can be. For some people it will never be over."

"Does that include you?"

He opened the door of the cab that stopped before them. "My father tagged along with John Bell Hood. He died at the Battle of Gaine's Mill."

"That's most unfortunate." She arranged her skirts on the seat of the cab. "My Father drank himself to death."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Chase answered.

"I wasn't," she replied.

* * *

Emily pulled off her shoes and stretched her toes, enjoying the breeze that entered the apartment window. Perrine sat carefully rolling strands of hair in the curling iron, pulling out the ringlets. Olivia Fernandez came through the door. Like Emily, she tossed her hat on the sideboard and slipped out of her shoes. "It was so hot in the mill today, I thought I'd faint. I must have drunk a bucket of water."

Emily smiled lazily. "If this breeze keeps up, it should be cooler tonight."

Olivia grinned, dropping onto the arm of their sofa. "Javier is taking Sophie to dinner."

"That's nice," Emily replied.

Olivia rolled her dark eyes. "Phillipe isn't going this time," she stressed. "He finally just asked _her_."

Emily sat forward. "Do you think this is it?"

"Usually the women chase after Javier. Sophie's been smarter than that; she's let him do the pursuing."

* * *

The afternoon sun began to slide lower on the horizon painting buildings in rose and purple. The Seine was a calm sheet of gold stretched from one bank to the other. A ripple dotted its surface where a wheeling gull had dived to pluck a fish.

Annie rested a hand upon the white linen table cloth. The café was a quaint little place and the wine was good. Being outside in the beginnings of the evening breeze was refreshing. The most surprising part of their dinner together was that Chase Kennard had kept the conversation lively. The subject of the gang never came up. He'd been a perfect gentleman.

"Do you have plans when you go to America?" he asked.

She sat back with a slight smile. "Only thing I plan is to be living comfortably somewhere."

"Do you still have family in Boston?"

"One brother high tailed it out to the west. The other two are probably still there, working for the railroad." She picked up her glass and took a slow sip.

"You don't stay in contact with your family?"

"Not since I stuffed my red locks up under a cap and got a job as a hotel maid. I walked out of our apartment with everything I owned in a carpet bag, and I planned on never going back."

Chase glanced at their fellow dinners. A couple sat holding hands, heads close. An older man sat watching the river and chatting with the waiter who was clearing a table. "There's supposed to be fireworks along the river tonight. Care for a promenade along the Seine?"

She batted her eyes. "Why Mister Kennard. I'd be delighted."

* * *

Emily carried dishes out to the table that Javier's parents and their neighbors had lined their street with. Sitting outside in the breeze and sharing a meal would lead to dancing after the fireworks, according to Olivia. Her parents, Nalda Fernandez and Hector Galvan had encouraged Emily to come out for the evening.

Darkness fell as the gathering groups of Rouen's citizens found spots to sit and watch the evening's entertainment. The city had decided to stage the display from the Ile Lacroix that sat in the middle of the river, providing a clear view to Rouen's citizens on either side of the Seine.

A neighbor pressed a glass of wine into her hand, another waved a cigarette, leaving a wisp of smoke as he told Emily and Olivia about his grandchildren. It seemed everyone on the street was eager for the cool evening air, and a chance to relax with friends.

Someone struck up a tune on a concertina. Olivia was immediately whisked away by an attractive man. It wasn't long before a guitar was added. Nalda and Hector danced to a Spanish tune as the group clapped and hooted encouragement. Their graceful moves and the obvious passion on their faces as the husband and wife looked at each other stole Emily's breath. No wonder the Spanish were reputed to be hot-blooded.

A breeze stirred behind her and she turned as a man's hand slid down her arm and took hold of hers. "Would Madame care to dance?"

She shivered with delight as she turned to the scarred man.

* * *

Javier took Sophie's hand. "The evening is still young. Would you like to visit my parents? The whole neighborhood is out in the streets. There should be dancing."

Sophie glanced away. "I'm not a very good dancer."

He made a noise low in his throat, bending his head closer to hers. "You are a wonderful dancer, querida. Do you not know how graceful you are?"

For a moment, she couldn't speak. He'd said she was graceful?

Javier peered at Sophie's face. She'd turned away, no doubt in embarrassment. Why could she not believe she was beautiful? He pulled her to a stop, watching her smile slightly, her gaze darting away from him. This had been their first opportunity to be alone together, and he was loathe to waist a moment of it.

"Sophie, look at me," he commanded. As she glanced up in surprise he bent, brushing a kiss upon her softly parted lips. He had meant it to be brief, but his heart beat harder as he splayed fingers over her spine and pulled her closer.

As he pulled back, her beautiful hazel eyes opened. The fire that had simmered inside threatened to blaze. "Mi corazon," he whispered against her mouth. He kissed her again, feeling her hands rest against his chest, over his wildly beating heart.

Sophie was too surprised to do anything but hope that Javier never tired of kissing her.


	20. Numbers

**Nineteen: Numbers**

Erik allowed a slight smile as he looked at Emily. Around them, couples danced, laughing and chatting. He took her hand and waited as she stepped into his arms, stepping to the beat of the music.

"Monsieur Martin," she said lightly. "Aren't you supposed to be on your boat?"

He bent to her ear. "Henri Capegon came by. I asked him to keep my guest entertained for a few hours." He caught sight of Javier's father, Hector. The man raised a glass and smiled. Olivia Fernandez twirled past in the arms of a robust looking fellow who was only as tall as she. She sped a questioning glance at Emily, who smiled in return.

"Why do women do that?" Erik asked.

"She's making sure it's all right with me for us to be dancing."

"Why? You have consented to the dance."

She smiled her impish smile. "Sometimes men assume they will be getting more than a dance." She nodded towards Olivia. "She's just checking to be sure everything is as I want it."

Erik glanced at Olivia Fernandez and noticed Javier's mother Nalda watching him with Emily. "It seems I should not worry over your safety. The Fernandez family looks to have taken over that job."

"I've been over to visit them several times. Phillipe and Sophie and I have practically been adopted. They are a wonderful family."

He held her lightly. To hold her any closer would have raised suspicion. Everyone knew that De La Shaumette was pursuing Emily Griggs.

"Who taught you to dance?"

Erik nodded towards Olivia. "Javier kept insisting I come to his family get-together. Livy was quite taken with a fellow that used to live two doors away." He paused to let another couple sweep by. "Javier had taken it into his head that I needed to be adopted. Plying me with Nalda's cooking, he dragged me over for the festivities. We were going to leave when I noticed the fellow that Livy was dancing with disappeared when a man showed up in the square."

"Trouble?" Emily asked.

"Yes. To say the least, the family was quite happy that I came between the new arrival and Livy's beau. She offered to dance with me and I told her I didn't know how."

"You seem to take to it quite naturally."

The music stopped, and he released her. For once he felt graceless and tongue-tied. He glanced at the people around them and spoke in a low voice. "Only with you."

* * *

Annie stopped along the bridge, looking down at the river. "Do you like France?" 

Chase stood next to her, his elbows resting on the iron railing. "It's not bad. I wish I understood more of the language. I'll just be glad to be home after this."

She sighed without meaning to. "I completely agree." She laughed. "I thought I'd like to tour Europe. It's all right for a tourist, I suppose. But I miss the States."

"I was discussing that with an American woman here in Rouen."

"An American? Does she live here?"

"Yes. She came over for Remington and has been asked to stay by a gentleman."

"A mistress?"

"No. A wife."

Annie turned, leaning upon the railing and looking over Chase Kennard. "What about you, lawman? Some little lady waiting for you in Texas?"

"No," he replied, looking out into the evening lights of Rouen. "She wouldn't wait."

She'd been prepared to tease him, to see if she could get that reserved face to crack a grin. Now, Annie felt the emptiness in his words.

"I'll flag down a cab," he said turning to the street. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

She was taking the train back to Abbeville to be at the apartment when Jim Burns visited again. This time she'd have more than a glass of whiskey with him. This time, she would try to convince him to turn over Joe Sterns to the Pinkertons.

* * *

Erik stepped back from Emily who smiled slightly. He was tapped on the shoulder before the next tune started. 

"Not at the boat?" Javier asked.

"Capegon is there. I asked him to give me a break." He leaned closer to Javier's ear. "I hope it fuels Darlington's suspicions that we are working both sides of the street on this case." He glanced at the tall woman who stood close to Javier.

The Spaniard pulled her closer. "Charles Martin, may I present Sophie Robillard. She's Phillipe's sister. Sophie, this is Martin. He and I used to run the river together."

"How do you do," Sophie replied graciously.

Erik gave her a curt nod. "I haven't met your brother, but he must be a saint to put up with this Spanish pirate."

Sophie gazed at Javier, who waved a hand. "He should know," Javier joked. "I learned everything from him." With a wink to Emily, he pulled Sophie towards the street for a dance.

Erik glanced at the crowd. "I need to get back." Under his breath he added, "I love you."

Emily nodded, looking at the dancers. "Thanks for the message, Charles. I'll let our boss know in the morning."

* * *

Sitting in her wig, Annie twirled a bracelet on her wrist. Tiring of the wait for Jim, she retrieved her bottle of whiskey from the kitchen. A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. 

Opening it, she smiled at Jim Burns. "You've been out in the sun, Jim. Your nose is red."

"Sterns had me casing a building."

She sat down and pushed the bottle across the table where an empty shot glass sat waiting. "Does Sterns have a plan or not?"

Jim sipped the liquor. "Sure."

"Sure what? Come on Jim, I deserve to know."

He made a face as the liquor hit his stomach. "How did you get on this week?"

"A lousy forty francs is all." She leaned forward. "Jim. There's a Pinkerton after us."

"I know."

She feigned surprise. "Why did you not tell me?"

"They have no clue what's going on. Stern's has made sure of it."

"He's made sure that we didn't know either." She reached across the table and poured more whiskey. "He's not as smart as he thinks he is. I know where the Pinkerton is."

Jim examined her face. "Annie, don't cross him."

"Or what? He'll leave me behind?" She sat back and glared at him. Are you going to leave me behind as well?" When he gave her no answer she added smugly. "Seen Ned Darlington lately?"

Jim's eyes turned flat. He reached across the table and snared her wrist. "What have you done, lass?"

"Nothing," she told him. "Not yet, anyway."

The silence stretched between them. It was almost painful to think of turning Jim over to Kennard. "You helped me, Jim. You taught me everything. You gave me what it took to crawl out of the slums of Boston." She paused to look at the table, then sweep her gaze to his face, pouring all the hurt innocence she could into it. "Please, Jim. Don't leave me."

He glanced at the table, wiping his mouth with his hand he finally agreed. "Paris. There's a collector who deals in artifacts. The fancy sort from Egypt. Ned's to make a mask. Sterns wants Tully and me to switch it."

She reached to grasp his hand. "But they have Ned. What are we gong to do?"

He reached into his vest and pulled out his wallet. After counting franc notes out onto the table, he picked up his glass and finished his whiskey. "Get to Paris. I'm at the Hotel Lafitte. Leave a note with the concierge and I'll let you know when we're finished."

She got up and followed him to the door, taking hold of his arm. "If the Pinkerton finds us, would you turn on Sterns? Would you give yourself up?"

His eyes roamed her face. "I won't go to prison."

She siddled closer. "We could work a deal. The man already has Ned. Who knows what Ned is telling them?" She gave his arm a squeeze. "Think about it. For me?"

He lifted a hand and ran a finger under her chin. "Just get to Paris. Stern's knows what he's doing." He turned and left her standing with a hand on the door jamb.

Annie turned back to her sweltering apartment. Picking up the money she stuffed the notes into her handbag and went downstairs to call a cab.

She checked the train schedule near the Abbeville station and walked the platform. She'd stuffed her wig inside her bag and combed out her hair. Using a couple of combs, she piled it on top of her head, allowing the breeze to cool her neck.

Retracing her steps out of the station, she walked up the road to an old storefront. Going around the back, she tried the door. It was not locked. She proceeded inside and sat down at the end of a counter. Minutes seemed to stretch to hours as the sun retreated outside the front window. A dark brougham rolled to a stop before the door.

She waited until the door opened and the man walked in. He carried a cane that was capped by a silver raven. Standing with his back to the window, she heard him speak. "Miss Reilly. You have some news for me?"

His voice was low and soothing but Annie still found being alone with the man raised the hair on the back of her neck. "I saw Burns. He says Sterns is getting ready to move in Paris. Darlington has been caught."

He stood silently, making her wonder if he were waiting for more. "You know what to do," he said. He turned and moved towards the door, the click of the cap at the base of his cane marking time with his steps.

* * *

Erik took the stairs two at a time. Sliding a pick from his trouser pocket, he slipped it inside the knob of Ned Darlington's apartment. Sliding it back and forth, he found the pins and held them, opening the lock. 

Pushing the door open, he paused. The air was hot and smelled of stale food. He stepped inside and swung the door closed all but a crack. Listening, he heard no one approaching from the stairs.

Moving through the apartment, he checked drawers and pockets. A small piece of paper was tossed in the garbage of the tiny kitchen. Using a fork, he lifted it out and spread it flat. Although coated in grease, he could make out two sets of numbers. One might be a date. The other would mean nothing until he knew more. Committing the numbers to memory, he continued his search of Ned's apartment.

Next to the bed was a nightstand was a bible. Curious as to why Ned would attempt to read a bible in French, Erik picked it up. Inside were three folded pages and a key. He'd have to give Darlington credit. A thief would not have bothered with a book, let alone a bible.

Looking back the folded pages, he noted the books they were from: Matthew, Leviticus, and John. Were the names significant? Or perhaps the page numbers might have something in connection with the numbers from the note in the kitchen.

Retrieving a piece of paper, he wrote down the numbers. A series of numbers might be a date, a combination, or a part of an address. The streets in Rouen did not include those names. As far as he could remember, Paris might not either.

Sliding the note into his pocket, he put the bible back. It was time to relieve Henri Capegon and check on Ned Darlington.


	21. Three Books

**Twenty: Three Books**

_Egypt: The close of the 18th Dynasty_

Horemheb, Pharaoh of Egypt, stepped forward and took the curve handled adze from the hands of the Head Priest. The Great One of the Two Lands prepared to perform the "Opening of the Mouth" ceremony for the mummy of his Queen, Mutnodjmet.

Beyond him stretched the desert, forever in motion beneath the sun. A mastaba of stone was erected here. So many years ago, it was to be his home in the afterlife. That had been two decades ago when he was a scribe for Akhenaton, the Heretic Pharaoh. Now he had come here to bury the woman who had become his wife.

She had remained beautiful in death, her face slack as though she had just fallen asleep. Beside her bed was the body of their fourth child, born dead as had been its predecessors. This time, her desire to give him an heir had taken her life as well.

The servants had removed the birthing stool. Her life's blood was now only a pink stain upon the marble floor. Someone had added her favored court wig, a diadem of small flowers rested upon her brow. Her elegant hands lay folded by her sides as they would for eternity after the embalmers wrapped her.

Sister to Nefertiti, daughter of Ay, she had joined her life to his in an effort to unite Egypt once again under the old Gods. As her sister was the Sun, Mutnodjmet was the Moon: cool, reserved, and serenely beautiful.

"King's Great Wife, Singer of Hathor, Singer of Amun, Lady of the South and the North,

Mistress of the Two Lands." The Priest announced her titles. Her husband would remember her by one alone: Sweet One.

He held forward the adze, touching the lips of her mummy case. "Awake!..May you be alert as a living one, rejuvenated every day, healthy in millions of occasions of god sleep, while the gods protect you, protection being around you every day."

_Wait for me, Sweet One_, the Pharaoh added silently.

* * *

_Paris_

It stood nearly seven feet tall. The double plume on her head proclaimed her a lady of great station, perhaps a Queen. Gabriel Sédilot walked a circle about the sarcophagus. The unusual blue coloring added to the headdress and at various parts of the case commanded his attention. Onuris, his Egyptian business associate, had done his job well.

A boy squatted on the floor of the warehouse. His large dark eyes watched listlessly as the rich Frenchman stuck a pair of spectacles with a jeweler's loupe on his large hooked nose and peered at the carvings.

"It's adequate." Sédilot said. "Highly unusual use of color," he paused and examined Onuris who stood by, his wizened features drawn in concentration. "Did your cousin make this one?"

"No! I swear by Allah! This case came from Medinet Abu. The Desert. She was buried with another woman in a small tomb."

Sédilot humphed. So much for the idea that it was the sarcophagus of a Queen. "Does this contain the original mummy?"

Onuris spread his hands, the gnarled fingers looked like the claws of a bird. "It is in poor condition." Why any of these Europeans would want a dried up old stick of a body was beyond his ken. Many of the mummies had been stacked in storage to be sold as firewood for locomotive tinderboxes.

The case had been heavy enough to transport. Before it left the ship one inept dock hand had almost hit a pilling with it and would have broken off the carved feathers.

"Very well, let me seen what else you've brought." Sédilot moved towards a trunk that Onuris siddled over to.

The boy rested his hands on his knees and shrank back near the sarcophagus.

Husani had become the Lady's servant. He'd been in the tomb when the men who hired him sent him down a shaft to verify an opening into the mastaba. Dangled by a rope, he was the first person to see the Queen since the priests had sealed her in the darkness forever.

His excitement at the loot pulled out of the case waned when he saw them hack her chest open to pull out the scarab-the amulet that protected the heart. They tore off her rings and her necklaces. Each of her fingers and toes had been wrapped and covered with gold imitations of her digits. A diadem of jeweled flowers still rested upon her shriveled brow and a desiccated lotus lay upon her breast. Someone had loved her.

As the robbers retreated with their gold, Husani had taken a last glimpse of the lady's mummy. He looked at her shriveled features, imagining her mouth gaping in a silent scream at her desecration. Perhaps she screamed because without the protection of her scarab she would not be allowed to pass into the Field of Reeds, what he ancients called heaven.

She would be lost in darkness, surrounded by the vile and the wicked. Monsters would chase her for eternity. What hand had rested the flowers upon her brow would never hold hers again.

He'd left with the robbers. Somehow, he'd find a way to win back his Lady's heart.

He'd followed her to the ship. In the trunk that Onuris was showing to the Frenchman, the heart scarab rested in a pouch along with a mask of Anubis, and the Lady's carved bust.

* * *

Father Alphonse walked through the apse of the church. At this time of night, not many stayed to keep a late vigil before the altar. He walked down the center aisle and nodded greetings to a pair of women who sat with rosaries in hand. 

There was something almost mystical about the sanctuary at night. As if in the quiet hours, one could truly whisper into the Divine's ear. The sense of peace from the quiet was welcome after the evening's festivities.

He felt a curious awareness, realizing he was being observed. Turning towards the church's door, he saw a man had entered. The new arrival walked into the sanctuary. He genuflected gracefully and turned his face towards Father Alphonse. Half of his face was shrouded in darkness.

A superstitious thrill past through the Father. Shaking it off mentally, he waited for the man to approach him. He came abreast of Alphonse and turned his attention towards the altar. "Father, I have a question."

"Yes," Alphonse replied. "How may I help?"

"Three books of the Bible: Leviticus, Matthew, and John. How would you interpret similarities in them?"

Father Alphonse took a seat on the end of row of pews and waved for his visitor to sit. Crossing his arms, he rocked back and began. "An interesting group of books. Two in the New Testament, and one in the old. Leviticus is the third book of the five that comprise the Jewish Torah. It's thought of by scholars as the book of laws, and also instructions on ritual and priestly duties."

The man sat quiet for a moment. "Is there any direct connection between them?"

"Not on a superficial level. As Catholics, we interpret the information in Leviticus as an indication of the coming of Christ. The other two," he said, raising a hand, "are eye-witness reports of Christ's activities."

"Do any of them relate directly to that laws that Leviticus lays out for the priests?"

"Some." The priest paused. "What sort of connection do you hope to find?"

The man lifted an eyebrow. It was a telling gesture in its simple elegance. "I'm not sure."

Father Alphonse considered the comparison. "Moses."

"Go on, Father."

"If you are looking at it from the idea of conversations with the Divine, Moses was instructed by God to write the laws that form Leviticus. John and Matthew were companions of Christ."

The man sat quiet for a moment. "Matthew contains a greater number of Christ's miracles."

"And the story of John the Baptist," the priest added.

The stranger sat with his eye trained upon the altar. "Thank you, Father." He got to his feet and turned away.

"Sorry I could not be of more help."

The stranger paused. "Do you preside at marriages?"

"Of course. Will it be occurring soon?"

A smile crossed the man's features. "As soon as the mystery of the books has been revealed."

Alphonse smiled back. "Then we shall see each other again?"

"I pray so, Father. Good Night."

Alphonse watched the man's retreating figure as he moved silently through the church. He was reminded of a passage: _Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares_.

* * *

"Good morning, Agnes," Phillipe Robillard called from the front hall. 

"Good morning. Would you care for coffee?"

"That would be wonderful." He joined her in the kitchen. "Where is Etienne? Is he out running errands all ready?"

Agnes offered him a cup and saucer. "We found a note in the hallway this morning. He," she glanced upwards towards the study, "wants a bible sent to Emily."

Phillipe took the coffee, dropping a sugar cube into it. "That's…not unusual I suppose."

Agnes gave the younger man a meaningful look. "He's got that look about him again. You can practically hear the wheels turning inside his head."

"Something is up?" Phillipe asked softly. "We'll ask Javier."

* * *

Annie lifted her parasol with an impatient gesture. "Jim says it's definitely artifacts, so Ned wasn't lying. He wouldn't tell me more though. Just gave me money to meet him at a hotel in Paris." 

Chase escorted her out of the train station. "No dates either?"

Annie carefully arranged her dress as she sat. "No."

"You seem a bit perturbed." Chase observed.

Annie looked sharply at him. "I'm angry. I thought Jim would trust me more." She mouth formed a sullen pout. "It's Sterns' doing."

"Now, Annie," he cautioned. "Don't let that Irish temper of yours get the better of you. No one can suspect that you're watching them."

"I know," she huffed. As she turned to glance out of the window, her voice turned soft. "I just expected more from Jim Burns."

"It's business, Annie. You know that better than anyone else," Chase cautioned.

"Yes. I know," she replied, irritated.

* * *

Emily arrived home in time to oversee Maxine Sablon's ritual of watering her palm. It looked decidedly comfortable in the nook next to the staircase. 

Maxine brought her a bag. "This came for you."

Thanking the girl, Emily went upstairs and sat on the sofa. Inside the bag was a bible. Sticking out of the edge was one of Erik's envelopes. She opened it with happy anticipation to have her feelings wilt as she read his note.

_I need your female intuition once more. What is the connection between the books Leviticus, Matthew, and John?—E._

Emily flipped over the page and read it over again. _That's all?_ she wondered. _We've barely seen each other and all I get is a hurried 'I love you' from Charles and a question about the bible?_

She let her head drop back on the top of the sofa, feeling a keen sense of disappointment. He'd said that he would have to be elsewhere and she understood that. Why did it have to happen now that he had asked her to marry him? Things were going nicely, albeit a bit quickly.

She sat up and kicked off her shoes, letting the cool air caress her toes. He'd done this to her. He'd sent her flowers and chocolates and little gifts. He'd made sure to tell her every moment they were together that he loved her. Somewhere along the line, she'd come to expect it.

That thought saddened her. She'd said "I love you" back, but hadn't taken the time to reciprocate his gifts. Now that they could not see each other every day, it was time for her to send something to him.


	22. Temptress

**A/N: There is a reference to another of Erik's stories..."Lightning In A Jar". It's a shorty told by Agnes if you haven't got around to it yet... **

**Twenty-one: Temptress**

Back in his guise as Charles Martin, Erik stood beside the cabinets in the _Erebus_. Chase Kennard had left Annie at the hotel. In the cool morning air, he sat at the table with Henri Capegon and Ned Darlington, nursing cups of coffee.

"That's all she got out of Burns." Chase rubbed his chin and picked up his cup of coffee.

Darlington sat turning his cup in his hands. "That's what I told you. Sterns sent me a picture from the Paris paper. He said there would be more, but I haven't gotten them yet."

"Are you anywhere near ready with the copy you're making?" Chase asked.

"I have a general likeness. I thought Sterns would send for me, and we'd take a glance at the original." Ned paused. "Maybe something's holding him up."

Erik listened as Henri repeated in a low voice what Ned had told Kennard. He might have to prod Ned about the bible in his room. Or, it might be something entirely innocent.

"Have you had any word from Sterns?" Chase asked.

Ned nodded. "The last I got was a note in the mail. It had some numbers in it. I didn't think much of it. I just expected maybe it was a date for a train or something."

Erik's ears pricked at the suggestion. The note in the trash might have been arrival times. Chase asked, "He travels by train?"

Ned nodded. "As far as I know, we all take trains. Annie dumps her disguises and leaves by train; Jim and Tully work in the towns they fleece, so folks get used to their faces." He spread his hands. "Sterns just blends in. You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do," Chase replied tiredly. "Whiskers can be grown in a couple of days and shaved right back off."

"He could change clothes along with it, and be almost unrecognizable," Henri added. "Most men wear hats. Unless the Sûreté actively starts looking at every gentleman on a train who is hiding behind a newspaper, they will never find him."

"We don't look," Chase replied. "We guess his next move and are there when he shows up."

"Do you read French, Ned?" Erik asked.

"Very little."

"Was there a caption under the picture you mentioned?"

"I think so," Ned considered the question. "Yes, I'm sure there were some words under it."

Chase smiled and picked up his hat. "Let's go for a walk, gents."

* * *

Erik didn't know the section of Rouen they stopped in. There were a few store fronts wedged between clusters of apartments and a number of single dwelling homes that were converted to businesses of an unlikely sort. One sported dark velvet curtains and advertised a seamstress. How many women could sew in the dark?

Ned pulled out a key and led them up a tight stairwell to an apartment. Pushing open the door, Erik was surprised to note the large window that faced the river. "You use natural light for your work?"

Ned bobbed his head. "The colors can look different at different times of the day." He lifted a sheet of cloth off of an object on the table. "The Egyptians would have been working in the bright sun. I mixed the colors here but left them a little washed out to mimic the aging of the piece."

The men stood examining the work Ned had done. Henri spoke first. "She really is quite lovely. You say she isn't finished?"

Ned pointed to the newspaper clipping. "The picture was adequate for the modeling. I just wasn't sure about jewelry on her, or her cosmetics."

Erik examined the exotic dark eyes that looked back at him. Her features were well formed, but what made her beautiful was the serene look upon her face. Her lips held a slight, happy curve. Her wig was an elaborate style of small braids upon which rested a circlet of gold.

Chase turned and took the small nail out of the clipping and carried it to Henri. Taking the paper, Henri read. "'The private collection will be opened to members of….' It's ripped there, so I cannot tell the rest."

"Would Sterns come to retrieve this piece?" Erik asked Henri who turned the question to Chase.

Ned lifted a hand. "Usually, I'd transport it."

"Exactly," Chase added. "Sterns wants no evidence near him unless it has to be." He eyed Erik. "No evidence, no arrest."

Erik walked to the window. The sun was already heating up the glass. "Get this information to De La Shaumette. Madame Griggs works with Rouen society. Maybe she would have some ideas."

They looked back at the face of the woman. "We need to move that," Chase told Erik. "Just in case."

With a curt nod Erik turned to Ned. "Let's get her ready for a trip."

Placing her carefully into a crate while Ned directed Chase and Henri what to pack of his materials, Erik took one last look at the face of the woman. "Who was she?"

Ned stood by his elbow, looking at the woman's features. "I always wondered what made her smile like that." He indicated the piece of newspaper. "Maybe we'll find out when we reach Paris who she was."

* * *

Emily stopped by the house and said hello to Agnes. Finding that Javier was upstairs with Phillipe, she decided to check with the men and see if there was any news about the American gang.

She tapped on the door of the study, pushing it open after Phillipe called out. It seemed odd that it wasn't Erik's voice. Feeling a keen sense of disappointment, she entered the room. "Good morning. I thought I'd drop by and see if there was any progress."

Javier returned to his chair after she took hers. Leaning an elbow on the arm, he shook his head. "Right now, we are just trying to keep them away from Sterns."

"Them?" Phillipe asked.

"Annie Reilly turned herself in," Javier replied.

Phillipe and Emily started at him in surprise. "That's a good sign isn't it?" Emily asked.

Javier opened a hand, as if something he held would now be free to escape. "She's here, but she can be trouble."

"You mean more crooks to watch over?"

"The chance of a double-cross," Javier replied. "We think Kennard will play Annie and Ned one off the other to see who comes up with more information."

"Javier," Phillipe asked cautiously, "that woman isn't held at the boat is she?"

Emily's ears pricked up. Javier shook his head. "No. We put her at the hotel. She and Ned might decide to disappear together, even though that would be unexpected. There's a bit of animosity between them."

"Perhaps they are just angry over getting caught."

"Ned doesn't care for her. He's jealous that she doesn't have the professional skills. He also says she stirs up trouble."

"You mean she causes problems for Sterns?" Emily asked. "Why on earth would he bring her to France then?"

"She's made it clear that Sterns will not help her or Ned since they've been caught."

Phillipe asked, "Ned is the forger, what does Annie do?"

"She's a confidence woman. Her job is to dress up and distract, which she does very well," Javier continued. "She's every man's dream walking."

Emily turned her full attention to Javier. "How exactly does one win another's confidence?"

He grinned, his humor lighting his dark eyes. "How would you worm your way into some man's pockets? She's an attractive woman. No doubt, she gets a man's attention and then bolsters his interest in her."

Emily fought hard not to make a disgusted sound. "The phrase in English is _The way to a man's heart is through his stomach_."

"She's not interested in a man's heart," Javier replied archly. "She's after his wallet. Once she's done her job, she drops him and moves on."

"Do all men fall for a bit of flattery?" Emily retorted.

Javier laughed. "It helps." He trained a serious eye on Emily. "I don't think there are many men, especially lonely men, who would turn down a beautiful, willing woman."

Unease swept over her. Erik could be alone with a woman who specialized in twisting men around her finger. A man who had spent years alone hoping for any warm human contact would be the perfect target for a temptress.

* * *

The note came sometime while Emily was out. She snatched it up off of the sideboard, her heart accelerating.

_Ma charmanté-we can indulge in a stolen moment. A carriage will come for you at seven. E—_

Emily dropped the note and tore through the apartment in her hastily donned robe. Quickly seeing to her hair and a bath, she stepped out of the steamy water closet and stood looking over an array of dresses and skirts.

_A stolen moment_, he'd written. That could mean the boat, or the house, or what? She sprayed on a light lilac perfume, dusted some powder across her cheeks and pinned her hair up with the ends dangling in ringlets. A bright cotton blouse with cutwork and a light colored blue skirt completed her outfit. She slid her favorite bracelet on her wrist and glanced at her watch. She realized she hadn't wrapped Erik's present.

"Thunderation!" she spat. In a frenzy, she ran to the sideboard and started going through the tissue paper and materials inside. She sat upon the rug with the book in her lap, deciding on a bit of paper with small embossed squares upon it that had a metallic sheen to it. Before wrapping the book, she hesitated, what about writing something in it?

She took the paper and the book to the kitchen table and sat with a pen. Would he wish a signature inside the book, or would he be upset at it being defaced? Or should she write something and tuck it inside where it might take him a while to find it? Staring at the book, she read the gold letters on the title over and over again.

She'd picked up the book because she remembered Agnes explaining the machine that made the static. Lightning, she called it, lightning in jars.

The word called to mind sudden gusts of wind and the ominous rumble of thunder, the tingling feeling along the skin that presaged the approach of the lightning. It was so like Erik, the tempest moving to engulf her in a whirlwind of desire. Emily sighed and started writing.

The carriage dropped her off at the end of a road. The driver promised he would return by ten o'clock. She turned and followed the trail around a copse of trees.

Waiting in a cleaning was a table on the bank of the river, covered in snowy linen and covered dishes that reflected the candles upon the table. Lanterns were staked out a few feet away, aligned with the four corners of the table.

Erik walked towards her, his hand brushed her shoulder. He stood with his white mask in place, dark trousers and a light summer shirt. Stepping into the circle of his arms, she hugged him fiercely.

Although he reveled in her embrace, Erik was surprised by the firm hug. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. I've missed you. I brought you something."

Erik's heart skipped a beat. Emily shyly offered a package to him. He could count on one hand the number of gifts he had received during his life and have fingers left. He was surprised and happy as he awkwardly took the present from her hand. It must be a book by the feel of it.

"Open it," Emily prompted.

He glanced at the happy smile on her face and realized he had seen that sort of smile before. The Egyptian statue's face had been the face of a woman in love.

Erik fought to keep from ripping the paper from his present. Smiling himself, he asked, "Should I?" he asked softly. He held the present and gazed at her. "Our food will be stone cold if I open this first, you understand?"

Emily looked away, a small laugh escaping her soft lips. "Go on."

He undid the wrapping and pulled it away, revealing a book of the works of Benjamin Franklin. Flipping it open, he saw it included Franklin's writings on electricity and lightning.

"I thought you might be interested in the essays on electricity since Agnes told me about the lightning jars."

His fingers traced the spine of the book. He'd owned a copy of it once before. It now lay buried under the Opera. Emily's serendipitous choice gave him pause. Were things meant to connect in his life? And if so, did it mean he was always destined to find her? He looked at her shining eyes. "It's perfect."

Emily shivered at the sound of his voice. He kissed her long, slow, and softly. It filled her with such a smoldering fire she wondered if she could remember what she came to tell him. The man was far too dangerous. His perfect voice, his lingering kisses, the smell of cologne and Erik made her mouth water.

"Thank you," he added, pulling her into his embrace. His head dipped and he paused just above those soft lips, "I've missed you too."

He pulled her towards the table and held the chair for her. Lifting lids he revealed Filet Mignon of pork cooked with onions, a dish of potatoes cooked with cream and swiss cheese, and a salad of greens and vegetables. Erik pulled the wine bottle out of the bucket and opened it, pouring Emily a glass first.

He sat, flicking his napkin across his lap. Lifting his wine, he looked at the woman who had come to fill the empty spaces that he had lived in. She picked up her glass, meeting his with a soft clink.

"Mmm, this is good," she said after taking a bite. "I'm absolutely famished." She took a sip of wine. "I sent a message to Hugette Pinson. There are several art dealers in Paris who arrange private showings of works that will be offered later for private auctions."

Erik swallowed a bite of salad. "You found all this out today?"

She smiled sheepishly. "I was lucky. She knows this gentleman who dabbles in collecting. He's really quite amazing. I could sit and listen to him talk for hours."

"You've met him?"

"His name is Allemane. I met him the night that Phillipe and I went to the theater and met Jules Ougenarde. M. Allemane retired form teaching art history here at the University." She put down her fork and pulled a slip of paper from her pocket, offering it to him.

Erik glanced at the names on the list. "I would assume that these groups would be interested in Egyptian artifacts. Darlington has been working on a forgery for Sterns. It's the bust of a woman he did from a newspaper clipping."

"Would it be a Paris paper?"

He stopped his glass before it reached his lips. "We are all like children lost in a forest. It might be from anywhere in France. Ned says that Sterns travels by train exclusively. He might have carried that paper with him from another destination, or it might be from here in Rouen."

"Too many roads to follow?"

"Yes." He let his frustration leak out in his voice.

"Well then, we eliminate what we can. Hugette says the paper here keeps copies of the photographs they use. We can at least verify he didn't get the paper here."

"Good. I can plant that idea in Kennard's head as well. Maybe the Sûreté will help us verify what paper."

"All right. We get everyone looking for the newspaper. What about the bible you sent to me. Is it a clue as well?"

He lifted his glass and swirled the contents. "I checked Ned's apartment. There was a bible on his nightstand in French with a page of each of these books folded." He set his glass down. "I'm not sure it has anything to do with Sterns. Ned didn't mention it to Kennard."

Emily stilled. "Do you think he might be holding this back from Chase?"

"I get the impression that Darlington is afraid. He won't let Sterns get away with leaving him to Kennard. Perhaps he's just holding on to a trump card to play later."

Erik watched her pushing a potato on her plate with a fork. "Emily? You've grown pensive. What is it?"


	23. Small, Bright Things

**Twenty-two: Small, Bright Things**

Erik waited, watching Emily gaze at her plate.

"I'm not sure how to say this." She tucked her hands in her lap. "Please don't misunderstand me. I-I'm just not used to these sort of people."

"Tell me," he prompted gently.

"I come from a small town. Lots of the families there are related and those who aren't are very familiar with who is who in town. None of us, the children that is, could do a thing without most of the town knowing what happened the next day. If a neighbor didn't tell on us, then our parents would here it at church on Sunday." She made an open handed gesture on the table. "We don't have criminals."

Erik could sense she was struggling to understand. "No. I don't suppose that you see this sort of activity." She'd led a sheltered existence. She wouldn't understand the gypsies or the Coquillards or what drove them.

"A lot of the children go through that period of their lives and try to steal, but always get caught."

"Why do you think they steal?"

She shrugged. "I think some did it for the fun of it. Some did it just because they thought the world owed it to them."

"Is your town poor?"

"No. Not like some might be. There were hard times during the Civil War and there still is a lot of poverty in the South. We usually take care of our own."

"Not everyone is so fortunate. During the bombing of Paris people stole cats to sell to for food. What sat on a rich person's lap became a sought after meal for others. Horses were slaughtered. Women sold themselves for money to buy what they could find. A lot of people turned to theft."

"I can understand that. That's a question of hardship. I don't understand people who could easily get a job turning to stealing from others."

"Do you understand that I stole from others?"

She gazed at him, a slight frown on her features. "Yes, but you were young and needed to survive."

"I grew up, Emily." He reminded her. "I kept on taking what I needed as well as what I wanted from the Opera denizens. I could have walked out of the building and found an occupation." He lifted a hand towards the river. "I eventually did."

She nodded slightly, reaching to turn the stem of her wine glass. "I think I'm beginning to understand."

"The longer you deal with people you will learn there are no absolutes. There isn't a situation that can be delineated into black and white. The same goes for moral behavior. How you were raised and the choices you have made are not the ones that someone else has endured. You cannot expect the world to live by your moral code. Remember your guns? You said some people look at them as something evil and destructive while they were a necessary part of your life on your farm.

"If life could be described in dark and light then smugglers who brought food and medicine during the last war would still be criminals because of their actions. No one who was starving or suffering was unhappy because those men committed crimes for their benefit."

She smiled. "You're right, there are no absolutes. Perhaps the idea that the reason behind the crime has more to do with avarice than survival is what I don't understand."

"For some it is a game, I think. I've witnessed men and women both who were of high social standing performing petty thefts. I think it was thrilling for them. Like the men who frequented the dancers. The pursuit was important, not the outcome or its consequences."

"That's the exact word I was thinking: consequences. I think the fear of them is what kept us on the straight and narrow."

He lifted a hand. "I had no consequences I cared to think about. People hurt me for years. What did it matter to me that I made them pay for it?"

She was quiet again, gazing with the flicker of the candles in her eyes. "So you have changed?" She smiled, but still looked a tiny bit puzzled. "Reading what you wrote you seem to have gone through the worst of your life and left it behind."

He considered his answer carefully. Like her invitation to choose a song to play, her question insinuated that the Phantom was a shadow in his past. "I can never leave it all behind. It is what has made me the man I am now. I focused every talent I had on capturing the love of a woman. When she left, my instincts to survive lead me away from Paris. Something here," he gestured towards the river, "captured me. I rebuilt my life here.

"But I protect what is mine," his voice dropped to a low rumble. "I have the right to do that."

Emily suppressed a shiver. This must be the voice of the man known as the Phantom. His commanding tone raised the hair on the back of her neck. It was thrilling and frightening at the same time.

Erik continued. "I will strive to do what is right, but I will not let these people ruin my possessions or harm my friends."

It would have startled him a few months previous to hear himself acknowledge the people closest to him as his friends. They had entered the relationship as employer and employee, but had become much more to each other. Javier was closer to him than anyone. Agnes and Etienne had become surrogate parents. Phillipe was the younger member, needing his guidance. And now there was Emily, the woman he had despaired of ever finding.

In the sudden silence, the candles guttered, but the glow in Emily's eyes never wavered. She stretched a hand across the table. "I suppose that is all I can ask of you."

His hand closed over hers. For a moment he saw a rose in the snow, a black ribbon tied around it. The fire of hatred and rage was a banked ember now. It had taken time and an iron determination to crush those useless, crippling emotions. When the inferno of anger died, it left the soft whispering of hopeful voices behind.

"My choice," he said softly.

For her sake, for all of their sakes, he would do what was right.

* * *

Jim Burns stepped off the train in Paris. After short cab ride and he was walking up the stairs to an affluent Paris hotel. Stopping on the third floor, he knocked.

"You're late." Joe Sterns pulled the door open, shrugging on his frock coat. Motioning toward his hat, Jim picked it up and held it out to him. "What'd Annie bring in?"

"Forty Francs is all she had."

Sterns looked at Jim. "What's wrong?"

"She knew about the Pinkerton detective. She said he's caught up with Ned."

Sterns accepted the hat. He flicked a speck from the brim and glanced at Jim. "I see."

Burns frowned. "You aren't surprised?"

"Why should I be? This is exactly what I expected." He held a hand towards the door. Jim stepped into the hallway waiting for him to lock his door. "I am disappointed in Ned, however. I'd hope that he would prove more elusive."

"She's right," Jim growled. "You meant to sacrifice her all along."

Joe Sterns turned a hard glance on his companion. "No one will be sacrificed if they keep their heads." He withdrew a small tin from his pocket and offered a peppermint to Jim who looked at the candy as if it were laced with poison.

"Use your head, Jim. I know she was your student, but she's come into her own. What happens to her is her decision. Don't let it influence you." He snapped the lid of the tin closed and put it away.

Jim realized that action summed up exactly how Sterns treated people. Every one of them was in his pocket.

* * *

Their meal finished, Erik arose from the table. "Would you like a walk along the river?"

Slipping her arms though his; they fell into a companionable silence listening to the sounds the river made. He was Erik again. A warm, solid presence that belonged next to her side. Don't they say _for better or worse,_ she mused. He had survived the worst parts of his life.

Here and there, the darkness was lit by the quick glow of the fireflies. "We used to chase those bugs and catch them in jars. My Mother would get angry when a jar would be forgotten outside for the night. We just wanted to see the bugs up close."

"I can remember a child catching them and pulling them apart to chain together their glowing bodies."

Emily made a moue of distaste. "I never killed anything for fun."

Despite all he had done, he had never sunk that low. He threatened Christine's Vicomte, but could he have lived with the thought that she had gone with him only to save the young man?

How many nights on the boat had he lain listening to the whispers of the wind and the gurgle of the river? How many times had he dreamed of Christine? The dreams had started in the grotto, but ended with her coming back to instruct him. As she had been his student, he became hers in the deep darkness of night.

The whispers in the night had absorbed the sound of her voice to one of their own. Was it coincidence or had he been granted a conscience along with his new found bravado to take on the outside world?

Emily lifted a hand. "Look." One of the bugs sat glowing upon the back of her hand. Crawling towards a finger, it took flight and disappeared.

"You know that is one of the things I value in you? The simple joy you take from the most mundane things."

She chuckled. "It can get boring on a farm. You have to entertain yourself."

"I spent my time drawing and writing music. I liked to watch the Operas."

"We did our chores and spent the summer looking for adventures."

"Do you still look for adventure?" he asked teasingly. He pulled her to a stop. Lights across the river dotted the water like diamonds. In the early evening light stars were appearing.

Erik bent to her, placing a teasing kiss upon her lips. Close to her, she smelled of lilacs and spice, and oh, so Emily. He kissed her again feeling her lips turn up into a smile. He straightened and tried to make out her features in the dim light. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Erik saw her head shake.

"Nothing."

"Is something amusing?"

"No," she protested. "I'm just happy."

"Happy."

"Aren't you happy?"

He grasped her face in his hands. "Yes." He placed a light kiss upon her nose. "I." He raised his lips to her forehead. "Am." He held her still as his lips meet hers and his tongue brushed against her. He responded to her sigh by kissing her harder, deeper.

A blissful eternity later he broke the kiss. "The best part of this?"

"Mmmm. What?"

"If the mask slips, neither one of us will care."

Emily neither had the breath nor the presence of mind to think on what Erik had said. Lost to his exploring lips, she only knew they were where they both belonged.


	24. Restless

**A/N: We have a guest this chapter, M****arthe Garatte who was featured in "The Golden Lotus"…in case you have forgotten her.**

**Twenty-three: Restless**

Annie lay on the bed, flipping pages of the Rouen papers. She'd already scoured the Paris Herald for anything that might have a connection to what Jim was doing for Joe Sterns. This was the third day she'd sat in the room, hoping for some information to come to her from Chase about Stern's whereabouts.

There was a timid knock on the door. She called for the maid to enter and sat up on the bed, smoothing her dress.

"May I clean, Madame?"

"Certainly." She waved the girl in. She wore the dark dress and small lace cap that the other maids wore, but looked to be younger. "How long have you been working here?"

"Madame?" The girl glanced at the hallway. "I've been here two weeks. Have I disturbed you?" She clutched the sheets she held tighter.

"No. You just are so young."

"I'm sixteen, Madame." She turned to her task and folded back the bed's coverlet. "I have a baby."

Annie masked her irritation. Another child raising a child. Men were such pigs. "Boy or girl?"

"A girl, Madame. She's stays with my Mother while I work."

"I'm glad you have family to help you."

The girl ducked her head. "Thank you, Madame."

"I'm going downstairs to the café," Annie announced. Withdrawing a franc note, she left it on the dresser. She hoped the girl had the sense to spend it wisely.

* * *

Erik looked down at the toe of his boot. It was time to purchase new ones for his other persona, Charles Martin. He pulled off the boot and turned it in his hand. Glancing at his sock, his big toe was peeking though. His temper was unraveling at a similar rate as his sock.

Another day on the boat with no further word from Kennard. He couldn't help but speculate that he might have been able to trace the newspaper clipping that Ned used as his reference quicker than the Sûreté. With a disgusted grunt, he slid the boot back on.

Business was steady according to Phillipe, and Javier reported that there was no trouble along the river. Probably due to the sudden arrival of thunderstorms which had sent everyone scurrying for cover. The streets of Rouen had been scoured clean last night. The morning air hung like a thick shroud.

He'd only received one note from Emily. She'd be leaving for Belgium soon to meet up with her English friend. Remington was paying their expenses as they were to attend several trade affairs.

Things were just fine. So utterly mundane that Erik felt like a watch spring wound too tight. If something didn't happen soon, he'd be tempted….

* * *

The door banged shut. The patrons of the tavern barely spared a glance until the bar maid scurried for the back. Charles Martin trod through the smoky air looking like Jove about to hurl a thunderbolt. Men surreptitiously cast glances at one another. Martin in a bad mood was an ill omen.

Several of them relaxed as they made note of his passing. When he sat down heavily at the back corner table, several members of the community exhaled and picked up their drinks. The tavern's owner came by, setting a glass before Martin and bustling away.

The Deep Draft tavern pulled in all sorts of men from the river. The man in the back corner was known to most of them. If Martin was looking for trouble, he'd have to find it elsewhere.

Marthe Garatte entered and sauntered over to the table. A few men nodded in greeting. Some of them had their first experience with a woman in her arms. Like the tavern, she was a part of the waterfront; both dealt in the commodities men would pay for. She glimpsed Martin and sidled up to the table. "Buy me a drink, cher," she purred in her husky voice.

Martin set his glass down, and indicated to the barmaid to bring another drink. As Marthe sat, a glass of gin appeared. "Thank you, Charles."

Martin stretched back in the booth, lounging with his hand tapping the table top. Marthe made quick note of the flat line of Martin's lips. He seemed even more taciturn than usual. "How is business?" She lifted the glass and took a slow sip.

Martin lifted his glass and drained it. It met the table in a sharp crack that made Marthe's eyes flare. He leaned forward. "Marthe, I've got female trouble."

She chuckled, her eyes bright. "It must not be that bad if you can joke about it. Who is the lucky lady?"

"Not a lady." His fingertips traced the rim of his glass. "Dresses like one, walks like one, but there is where the similarity ends. She's cool headed, and sharp."

Marthe leaned forward. "You need to put a little fire into her, eh?"

"If I do, I might be pulling the rug out from under someone else."

She sat, swirling the liquor in her glass. "We all stand on shifting sand sometimes. If a man stumbles, you can always go back and offer him a hand."

Another drink appeared. Martin scooped it up and drained it. "Thank you, Marthe." He tossed out a few franc notes. "Stay here as long as you like."

"You're welcome, Charles, but I'm meeting a man in a few minutes. Want to walk me out?" She climbed to her feet, holding on to Martin's offered hand. They moved out into the sultry evening air.

Martin turned his head, tracking an arriving cab. A man Marthe topped by a head stepped out. "That fellow?"

Marthe giggled, sounding a decade younger. "He's short and bald and an absolute joy in the sheets." She smirked at Martin's bemused expression. "It's what a man brings to bed with him that counts." She turned with a wink and proceeded to catch up to her customer.

Martin watched the pair. Pulling out his pocket watch he checked the time. He'd been fascinated as a child with watches and the small hourglass in his Mother's kitchen. He'd spent what felt like hours turning it over and over, watching the sand trickle inside.

It was time to set the sands shifting once again.

* * *

Emily took a drink of punch. It gave her the chance to relax the muscles in her face. She'd stood smiling and nodding for so long, she felt her neck growing stiff. This was the second evening in a row she'd attended a charity benefit in her position as the intended future Madame De La Shaumette.

This heated room of swallow tailed suits, satin, lace, and competing perfumes was a far cry from what Erik might be experiencing right now. The river would be cool, the streets dark. Shadowy shapes would meet along the docks and vanish. Alleys would become perilous gantlets for the unwary. In this bright room filled with the sparkle of diamonds, witty conversation and fixed smiles, she became painfully aware of what different orbits around the same sun she and Erik moved in.

Would a ring on her finger bring an end to it? Would Erik leave his home and come out into the light of day, the dazzling evenings, and the scrutiny of the public? Or would she become the public face to a private man, doomed to nod and smile and offer excuses as to why her husband did not stand at her side.

Feeling suddenly exhausted, she bid her hosts a good evening, and separated herself from the mingling guests to secure a cab. The night air wrapped her in a moist embrace. She despaired how much the ends of her hair would curl because of the humidity. Snapping her fan open, she waved it before her, stirring just enough air to cool her skin in the close interior of the cab.

The ride was thankfully short. Stepping down, she paid the driver. She retreated to the door of her building, but turned and stepped back towards the curb. Looking down the slight hill that led to the river she stopped. The _Erebus_ was no longer docked there; Erik had moved it when Chase Kennard needed a place to keep Ned Darlington.

The empty space along the bank made her feel even lonelier inside. There was no one home waiting for her, no open arms. The thread of anxiety that wove into her thoughts was brushed aside by the remembrance of how beautiful Erik's eyes looked as he gazed at her. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Inside her steadily beating heart is where he truly always would be.

* * *

Ned Darlington glanced up as the first heavy tread echoed off of the gangplank outside. Charles Martin pushed open the door with a quick nod to Chase Kennard. Chase retrieved his hat and went outside, pausing just at the edge of the deck to light a cigarette.

Martin set a booted foot along the edge of the boat. "We've been here nearly a week."

"I know. I'm getting restless as well."

"I'm going to give them a push."

"How?"

"I went to Ned's apartment. I found a bible with the pages folded back on three of the books. No other markings, just those pages. I'm not even sure it means anything, but you've listened to Ned. He reads very little French."

Kennard nodded. "What did you have in mind?"

"What if we give Ned a nudge towards Paris? He heard what Annie said about Jim and the hotel she was to meet him at." Pausing, he glanced back at the boat. "Ned's already worried he'll be found by a group of competing criminals. Perhaps we should tell him Annie's bolted and then I make an offer to take him to Paris?"

"Sounds good. Will your boss go for it?"

"I already asked. He knows we may have to leave Rouen to get this solved."

Chase considered Martin's stern features. The mask barely covered some sort of damage to the man's face. Between his questionable reputation and the mask, he might not be as trustworthy as De La Shaumette believed. "And what of Annie?"

"I'll get word to Javier. We can use another boat to get her to Paris once Ned is on his way."

Kennard turned over the idea. "What were the books of the Bible?"

"Leviticus, Matthew and John. The first pages were turned over."

Chase tossed the cigarette into the river, smoke trailed from his lips. "If there's a message in that, I doubt we could find it. Ned either isn't saying or doesn't know. That wouldn't be too far from how Stern's operates." He looked back over his shoulder, watching an approaching wagon on the street by the dock. "Where do we meet?"

"Day after tomorrow at nightfall. Tell Javier to stop at Port-Villez, and take you to l'Esturgeon. It's a tavern on the Seine before you get into Paris."

"All right. Day after tomorrow." He looked Martin square in the face. "No getting ideas and leaving us behind."

"We'll be waiting," Erik agreed. He only needed to set things in motion at this point. The currents of mistrust between Annie and Ned would carry them along afterwards. He turned on the dock and walked to the cabin.

Ned sat, looking miserable.

"Bad news," Erik said. "It seems they might have lost Annie."

Ned filled the quiet of the cabin with what Erik assumed were invectives by the way the man spoke. "That little Mick! I knew we couldn't trust her."

"_Meek_?"

Ned waved off Martin's question. "It's slang for Irish."

Martin leaned back. "Your mistrust seems well placed. Kennard is attempting to find where she has gone."

He got up from the stool by the table and went to the cabinets. Outside, along the dock were a pair of men who were doing an adequate job of being at the right place at the right time. He cast a look over his shoulder at Ned. "Come over here."

Ned came to the window. "Who is that?"

"That's a good question. Perhaps Annie has been a busy girl." He paused to let Ned think it over.

"How long have they been here?"

Since Ned hadn't noticed them, Erik embellished his reply. "They were along the street before I left. I wonder if Kennard noticed them?" he mused.

Ned raked a hand through his hair. "I d-don't like this. What if they are looking for me?"

Erik crossed his arms over his chest. "No one comes on my boat."

"They're leaving." Ned licked his lips. "None of this matters to you does it?"

Erik turned to Ned. "What do you mean?"

"Your boss doesn't owe Kennard anything. Let me go. Say—say you fell asleep and I got away." Ned stopped the flow of words, frozen by the piercing and dispassionate gaze Martin pinned him with. The gaze of a man who would as soon drop him into the river as let him disappear.


	25. Leaving

**Twenty-four: Leaving**

Ned looked away. Although half of Martin's features were covered, the hooded gaze of his green eye made Ned think of a spider; deadly, and unnaturally patient.

He reconsidered his own words, but the thought of Annie escaping redoubled his resolve. "I th-think you understand what I'm s-saying. She might have lied. No one was with her when she t-talked to Burns. Your boss isn't in this for the money. Kennard may n-not even find her," he protested.

Erik held Ned's gaze. His voice was low and level, "Why should I waste my employer's money on a trip to Paris?" _Tell me. Give me something more._

Ned licked his lips. "I picked up a package right before Kennard showed up. Stern's sent me a Bible and a key. Three of the pages were marked."

_Excellent._ With a lift of his eyebrow, Erik indicated the man should go on.

Ned raised a hand, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's still at my apartment. I never got any letter form Sterns. I thought when he called for the bust of the Egyptian woman to be delivered, he'd tell me what it meant. Maybe it was supposed to point me where I should go. I never found out."

Erik made a show of sighing heavily; best not to look too eager. He rubbed a hand across his jaw, a frustrated man who was coming to a decision. He walked to the small table across the cabin and hooked his foot in the bottom of the stool, pulling it out. Sitting down, he rested an arm on the table and examined Ned in the flickering light of the lanterns hung about the cabin. "Why didn't you tell Kennard about this?"

Darlington returned his steady look. "It might have been all that kept me out of jail. If Sterns didn't know that the Pinkerton caught up with me, we might have intercepted the letter he would have sent about the trip to Paris and where to deliver the bust."

It was sound reason for a man whose nervous impatience was growing. "Why didn't you play that card when Annie showed up?"

Ned snorted, a self-deprecating sound. "I would have, if she had swayed Kennard. But she's already gone and bolted hasn't she? I wasn't going to do it with her here. She knows someone, Martin."

Erik kept his face impassive. _Convince me_.

"She must have got in with someone. Maybe she was planning to back-stab Sterns all along. I wouldn't put it past her. It's the first thing she's ready to point fingers at Joe for. A guilty dog barks first they say."

It would be a superb gambit, if it worked. Erik sat, following a line in the grain of the table's top with a fingernail. Silence was a wonderful interrogation tool. People often got nervous and gave away more than they had planned to. When nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, he told Ned, "You understand that if anything goes wrong…."

Ned nodded, feeling pins and needles creeping over his flesh. _ Someone just walked over my grave._ _ If I double-cross Martin, they might never find my grave_.

* * *

Emily had only just started up the stairs of the De La Shaumette house when there was a knock at the door. Etienne headed towards it at a stately pace. He stopped before it a moment, then swung it open. Two men stood on the stoop, Henri Capegon and Chase Kennard.

"Pardon, we are looking for Monsieur Fernandez. Is he in?" Henri asked. Chase spied Emily on the stairs, tipping his hat to her with a lazy smile.

"Monsieur Fernandez should be back by four o'clock. Do you wish to leave a message?"

Emily stepped off the stairs and joined Etienne. "Good afternoon. Is there anything wrong?"

Chase removed his hat and switched to English, "We're moving Annie to Paris."

_It's about time._ Emily's conscience attempted to quash her elation. "Have you found the rest of the gang?"

Chase pursed his lips. "No."

Emily recognized the blank look she was receiving. She got the same look from Erik when he refused to elaborate. Shooting a glance at Henri and Etienne she spoke in English. "No as in 'no I'm not telling'?"

Chase had the grace to look embarrassed. "Now, Miss Griggs," his Texas drawl slowed his speech like molasses.

Emily rolled her eyes. "Oh, all right. Be like that. I suppose you'll say you can't tell me because of the nature of your work." Her mind raced as she stood getting no further reply from Kennard. "You want Javier to take you, isn't that it? Where will Martin be?"

"I'm really not at liberty…."

Emily made a disgusted sound. "I know. You can't say," she groused. "Well, you'll just have to come back at four when Javier returns. Good afternoon, gentlemen." She turned and headed for the stairs once again. With each step her mind worked on how she could go about getting the information she needed from Javier.

* * *

Annie sat on her bed, dealing out cards. Laying them in neat piles, she turned over the first card in her hand. A knock sounded at her door. She lay her cards down and straightened her skirt before she opened the door.

Chase Kennard stood in the hall, his hat in his hands. "Get packed. We're leaving for Paris. I've already paid the bill and told the concierge to have someone come up for your trunk."

"Have you found Sterns?"

"No, but sitting here is not helping the search."

"All right. It will take me a few minutes." She turned and scooped up her cards. She'd unpacked very little, what few things she had were inside the wardrobe. Taking the dresses off the hangers, she folded them back into the trunk. "Are we going by train?"

Chase stood on the threshold. "No. We're taking a boat."

"With that Martin fellow?" She fumbled a shoe, but caught it.

"No. The Spaniard."

She made an inelegant snort. "Good."

"What's wrong, Annie? You couldn't get Martin to warm up to you?" he asked glibly.

She wished she'd held her tongue. Instead, she looked up at Chase. "I don't trust him. He's too…cold."

"You mean you've met a man whose head you can't turn and that bothers you?"

She snapped the trunk lid down. "I've done confidence work for years. To be any good at it you have to read people." She picked up her bag and faced him. "I can't get a handle on him, Chase. It's like there is nothing there, nothing inside."

"An empty shell?"

"Exactly. The man isn't normal."

"No, I expect he isn't. Did you get a look at the patch he wears and what it barely covers? Maybe his life was taken away from him. A lot of the men who came out of the war alive are like that. All that destruction scoured it out of them."

She turned to take one last inventory of the room. It gave her time to suppress a niggling worry. Maybe Kennard was right. She dropped her trunk key into her bag and headed for the door.

* * *

Emily found a way to re-arrange her schedule. She hurried back to the De La Shaumette house in time to see Javier Fernandez arriving. She climbed quickly out of the cab and handed the driver some money.

"Javier!"

He turned on the stoop. "Emily. Stopping by for a chat?"

"Kennard will be here soon. He may even be inside. He wants you to take Annie to Paris."

"When did this happen?"

"He stopped by earlier. I'm not sure if Martin will stay or not."

Javier pushed open the door. "Come in."

After greeting Etienne, they proceeded up the stairs. Javier held the door to the study for her. He closed it and waited until she was seated. "I did get word that they are going up river. Martin will take Ned. Neither Ned nor Annie will know the other is there." He made an open handed gesture. "Other than that, they have no plans except to wait it out in Paris."

"Did they find where the newspaper clipping came from?"

"Kennard has it narrowed down to two different showings."

She leaned an elbow on the chair. "I won't get to see Erik before he leaves."

He shook his head. " Sorry, Emily. It was a quick decision done to put the pressure on both Ned and Annie. They'll think the other knows something."

She glanced at the room. The papers neatly stacked on the corner of the desk. The bookcase with its contents carefully arranged. "I'm just worried."

Javier sat down on the chair next to hers. "Don't be. Erik's a smart man. He'll get this wrapped up and be back before you know it."

"Paris is not a good place for him, Javier," she replied softly.

His dark gaze locked with hers. "He's talked to you?"

"Yes. After we came back that afternoon."

He reached to take hold of her hand. "I'll be there too, querida. He and I have gotten through worse than this. He may not even have to go in to Paris. Kennard might take Ned and Annie to the Sûreté."

She squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Javier. If anything happens…."

"I'll get word to you."

_Ye,s you will. And then, Monsieur Colt and I will make a trip to Paris_.

* * *

Martin looked back along the river at the receding buildings of Rouen. Ned poked his head out of the cabin. "Where will we go?"

"Where the river leads."

The currents would take him steadily away from Emily. Away from his future and back into his past. There was a distinct difference this time: Erik was not returning. Erik De La Shaumette was arriving. Only his heart would stay in Rouen.

Back over the rooftops the sun was sinking. The blue of the sky was growing darker, the color of Emily's eyes.

* * *

"Wouldn't the train be quicker?" Annie asked.

"De La Shaumette's offered the use of the boat. It gives us a place to be and the ability to move," Chase replied. The cab rolled to a stop before a house. "I have to meet with Fernandez here." He opened the door and stepped out. "I'll be right back," he told the driver.

Annie crossed her arms and looked out of the window of the cab. She really couldn't suggest anything without taking the risk that Kennard would think that she was stalling.

St. Germain was not a man to anger. She would have to get a message to him somehow.


	26. Send Him An Angel

**Thanks reviewers...I saved space on the canal boats for you. Greetings to new readers and Felicitations to my friends who are dropping by.  
**

**Twenty-five: Send Him An Angel**

Chase stepped up to the door and knocked. A slightly built older man opened it. "Come in, please."

Chase tipped his hat, stepping over the threshold into the dark paneled hallway of the house. Its large overhead beams bespoke its age. The servant ushered him into a parlor.

"A moment, Monsieur and I will announce you." He turned with a faint smile and headed for the stairs.

Chase wandered over to the lace curtained window that illuminated the parlor. The room smelled faintly of wood polish, the wood gleaming along the chair arms. He turned in a circle and spied an older woman in an apron standing before the door that opened into what would be the dining room. He dipped his head. "Madame."

Her serene face was unlined but for the small crinkle at the corner of her eyes which examined him. "Monsieur."

Agnes Bardou hadn't been smiled like that by a man in over a dozen years. Not counting the flirtatious smiles Etienne teased her with. She looked the man over again. He looked like he'd stepped out of the pages of one of Emily's wild-west books, the _dred-fels _that M. De La Shaumette would roll his eyes at.

She gestured towards the sofa. "Please be seated," she said politely. "Cow-boy," she added, imitating Emily.

Chase blinked. Never one to disappoint a lady, he grinned broadly and winked.

Agnes turned away, keeping her eye upon the younger man. She allowed a sly smile to curve her lips.

Emily followed Javier down the stairs. "Be careful," she warned him. "And send word to Phillipe if you need anything." She stepped off of the stairs. "Do you have money?"

Javier grabbed her hand and placed a kiss upon it. "Yes, and I'll take clean socks. You sound like _mi madré._"

Emily wore a pained smile. "Your mother will have our hides if anything happens to you."

He brushed a hand over his vest, flashing her a smile. "Emily," he protested, "it's me you are talking to." He turned his attention to the parlor. "Ah, good afternoon Monsieur Kennard."

"Fernandez." He smiled at Emily. "Always a pleasure."

"We can leave within the hour," Javier informed him. "The crew is preparing the _Nyx_ for us."

Emily glanced sharply at Javier. "The _Nyx_?"

He nodded. "Yes. The cargo was off-loaded. It's the only other boat in Rouen today."

"You're taking a woman up river on that boat?"

Kennard and Javier both looked at her. She spread her hands. "There is no…no facility on it. No water closet."

Javier lifted a shoulder. "We can stop along the way for the lady."

Emily leveled disbelieving eyes at him. "Javier. None of you can follow her into a water closet. She could shut the door and climb out a window." She glanced at Chase. "I would."

Kennard's eyes took on a speculative gleam. "She does make a point…."

Javier glanced between the two Americans. "Oh, no." He pointed upstairs. "He'll have my head if anything happens to you, Emily. You are not going!"

She sighed prettily. "Why don't I just run up and ask him? I'm sure he'll understand." She turned quickly and started up the stairs.

Javier swallowed as she bolted. She knew as well as he did that the study was empty. She could make up any tale she wished. Her heels upon the stairs were reminiscent of a hammer and nails. No doubt, the nails for his coffin when Erik found out. He turned to Kennard. "I presume Annie now has a chaperone."

Chase watched Emily disappear up the stairs. "Face it. That girl's got a _notion_."

Javier lifted a quizzical brow. "No-shun?" The man had said the word in English. "What is a no-shun?"

Kennard smiled ruefully. "Where I come from? It means trouble."

Javier muttered fluent curses in Spanish.

Emily ran into the study and dashed off a note to Phillipe about which appointments would need to be rearranged. Looking at the mantel clock she gave herself another few minutes before she headed back to the parlor.

When she arrived, Kennard was just leaving. She stopped a few steps before the bottom. Javier did not look amused. "You think my mother is trouble? Querida, Erik will be furious."

"I'll be careful," she replied soothingly. "I'll stay with you and Chase."

"The _Nyx_ is docked at the Rue de Rennes. You remember the warehouses?" She nodded. He shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe I'm agreeing to this. We leave by five o'clock. Five," he held up stiff fingers. "If you aren't there, we leave and _I'll _take Annie to the water closet!"

"Thank you, Javier!" She snatched up her skirts and was out the door.

He stood rubbing a hand across his forehead. Hearing the kitchen door, he turned to see Etienne and Agnes watching him. He lifted hands heavenward. "She has a _no-shun_."

Etienne shot a quick glance at his wife before he smiled.

* * *

Emily ran up the stairs in her building, halting when Maxine Sablon ran out of her door. "Madame Emily! There's a new leaf on the palm tree!"

She peered over the banister. "That's wonderful. I'm sorry, I'm in a hurry. A…ah..sudden trip I have to make. Will you water the palm for me?"

Maxine smiled, revealing a missing front tooth. "Yes. Tiny Toes and I will take care of it."

"Thanks, cherie!" She continued up to the apartment and grabbed the first bag she could find, dumping it on the bed and pulling out clothing from the wardrobe while she kicked of her shoes and started unbuttoning the bodice of her dress.

Perrine stuck her head in the door. "What's going on?"

"I have to make an emergency trip to Paris." Flinging off the bodice, a comb from her hair spun across the room.

Perrine watched the comb's flight and went to retrieve it. "Do you need help?"

"Sure." She shimmied out of her skirt and started naming things for Perrine to put in the case. In short order she was stuffing the last items in and buttoning a blouse at the same time.

Perrine went to the apartment door and hollered downstairs, "Maxine. Can you wave down a cab?"

The young girl put down the jar of water and ran to the door. Emily took one last look at what she had packed, and closed the case. Going to the space between the wardrobe and the wall she pulled out a long, dark bag. "Thank you, Perrine. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone." She gave the woman a quick hug and ran to the door, bumping the jamb with the case as she rounded the corner and hurried down the stairs.

Maxine waved excitedly at a cab that was pulling over to the curb. Emily bent and gave Maxine a quick hug. "Thanks, cherie."

Maxine made a grab for the silk chord around Emily's neck. "A shell."

Surprised, Emily held it for the girl. "Yes. A friend gave it to me."

Maxine looked at her. "Grandmamma has the same shell."

Despite the cab and the time slipping by, Emily stopped. "Your Grandmamma?" When Maxine shook her head, Emily glanced back at the cab. "Do you know what it means?"

Maxine slid her gaze towards the apartment building. "It means you are part of the family."

"Your family?

The girl shook her head. "The family. They will keep you safe, Madame Emily."

The horses shifted in the harness and the driver picked up her case. Emily smiled at Maxine and gave her a hug. "Take care." She gave the driver the address and sat back on the seat. Lifting the shell, she slid it inside of her blouse, wondering what Maxine meant by _the family_.

Twice the cab stopped. Emily tapped her foot and glanced nervously out of the windows. She got a glimpse of one of the many church spires that dominated Rouen's skyline. _Take care of him for me_, she prayed. _Send him an angel_.

* * *

Javier turned an appreciative smile on Anne Reilly. She lifted the hem of her skirt and placed a dainty foot upon the deck of the boat. Sliding her gloved hand into the one he offered, she assessed the cabin of the boat.

The _Nyx_ was similar in design and age to the _Erebus_. While the _Nyx_ fulfilled the job of cargo carrier, Erik had used the Erebus for his home while he worked the river. As such, it was outfitted more comfortably.

Javier pushed open the door. A pair of bunks lined one side of the room while across from them sat the line of cabinets that served as kitchen and pantry for the crew. Annie stood looking about the room. "How primitive."

Javier slid past her. For a thief she exhibited the airs of a queen. "We took the pigs off just for you." He grinned wickedly as the corners of her mouth drew down.

She turned to Chase Kennard speaking in English. "Who is this bit of flash again?" She let her Irish color her words.

"He works for De La Shaumette." He gestured towards a small chair that sat between the bunk and a wall. "Have a seat."

She cast a haughty glance at the furniture. "In this tip?" She crossed her arms over her breasts. "I'd rather take in a last bit of air."

Javier watched the Americans talking. Noting the way Annie stood, he doubted she found her new accommodations to her liking. He slipped his pocket watch out and interrupted her. "We need to get going."

Kennard turned to him. "Without Madame Griggs?"

"I told her five o'clock and she isn't here. I'll give her . . . ten more minutes, but then we must get going."

Annie's lips pursed in distaste. "Griggs? What are you bringing that scanger for?"

Chase wasn't surprised at Annie's quick retort. "Careful, Annie, your Irish is coming through. Miss Griggs may take exception to being referred to in those terms."

Annie raised an eyebrow dismissively. "I didn't think one of the Pinkertons would need to rely on a woman to keep an eye on an informer."

He leaned a hand on the cabinet next to him. "What's wrong?"

Annie gave a negligent shrug. "Nothing, lawman. Let's just get going. I want to see Joe's face when you arrest him."

He made up his mind as her sentence wound down. Annie was protesting far too much.

Quick footfalls sounded on the gangplank. Javier stepped to the cabin door in time to swing it open for Emily who arrived breathless, with her hat askew. She handed him her case, smiling. "We stopped up the road. I thought I might miss you."

Emily saw the woman immediately. Annie Reilly was a stunning woman, but her beauty was marred by the dismissive look in her flashing green eyes. "This is my guard?" She looked Emily over.

Determined not to let the woman get the best of her, Emily straightened and turned to greet Chase. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting."

"Not at all," Chase smiled. "It's good to have you coming along." He glanced at Annie. "This is Mrs. Griggs. The Remington lady."

Annie's finely arched brow lifted. "The secretary that Frenchman is going to marry?"

Chase grinned. "The lady with the _guns_."

Annie's eyes shifted to the long dark bag that hung at the woman's side. It was the proper length to cover a rifle or a shotgun. _ Well, hell_.


	27. A Meeting At PortVillez

**A/N: Fanfic is being tempermental! Enjoy... **

**Twenty-six: A Meeting At Port-Villez**

Ned Darlington stifled a yawn. Martin had just moored the boat after passing through the locks at a town called Poses. Along the banks of the river, Ned looked at the twinkling lights of the village.

"Come on," Martin prompted. "There's an old Inn here. We can get some dinner."

Ned fetched his coat and followed the scarred man through the streets. When they reached the Inn, a few of the people in the room nodded a greeting. Martin selected a table in a dimly lit corner. Not for the first time, Ned Darlington wondered how it was this man's face was ruined.

A middle-aged woman who look as wrinkled as a raisin came over to the table. Martin gave instructions and soon, two glasses of wine arrived with a board on which sat a crusty loaf of bread. Helping himself Ned chewed while he surveyed the room. Up on the walls were paintings. "Everywhere I go, there are paintings," he told Martin. "Any of them famous artists?"

Martin pursed his lips and glanced around. "They might be in the future with these Impressionists trying to get their work sold."

Ned sipped his wine. "I saw some of that. I thought it was a lot different from the Romance painters."

"It's supposed to be influenced by the woodblocks of Japan."

Ned eyed the other man. "How do you know about Japanese wood blocks?"

Martin turned a hand in a careless gesture. "We transported porcelains down river. They came wrapped in colorful paper. Javier and I pulled some out." He paused and looked Ned over. "Just because we work on boats doesn't mean we don't keep our eyes open."

Ned nodded in agreement. "The river is sort of slow isn't it?" He amended his comment, "Not that the scenery isn't beautiful. But I'd suppose traveling pasy the same villages makes you wish to see something else."

"In the morning you'll see the lakes here," Martin told him. "We are sitting in a bend of the Seine. Inside this bend are the Lac du Mesnil, Lac des Deux Amants, and the Reserve."

Their dinner,steak au poivre with boiled potatoes and vegetables, arrived on large plates. Ned's mouth watered at the sight of the steak. "I've been cooking for myself so long, I've forgotten what a steak tastes like."

Martin picked up his cutlery, knifing through the steak with a quick twist of his hand. He turned his attention to methodically eating, elbows on the table. Ned chewed slowly, savoring the flavors of the wine and the meat. When the meal was finished, they left for the boat.

"That boss of yours must pay well."

Martin's steady gaze stayed trained on the streets around them. "Well enough."

"I never got enough put by to afford steak while I was with Joe." Ned took one last longing look at the village houses. He really didn't want to spend the night afloat on the river again. "Then again, I was to keep my head low in case of questions."

Two men walked towards them along the sidewalk. As they approached, one said something and they stepped off the curb and went around. Ned cast a glance behind him. Martin walked on. If he had been by himself, Ned probably would have moved for the other two. "Did, ah, did one of those men recognize you?"

Martin turned a quizzical glace to him, and Ned tipped his head in the direction of the men that passed. "Do they know you?"

Martin continued walking. "By reputation."

"Oh," Ned breathed.

Martin smiled, a slight curve that did not light his eyes. "I earned it."

"Y-yes, I supp-pose you did. I heard a-a lot about your boss."

Martin stopped. In the faint light his uncovered eye was a dark well. "Such as?"

Ned stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Things." Martin began to turn away. "You're different from Tully. Joe keeps him around because Tully enjoys beating people up. You don't seem to go out of your way to start anything."

Martin made a sound that might have been a sigh. "I do what is called for. When I knew I was going to spend all my life on docks arguing over cargo, I took up De La Shaumette's offer. When he's happy, I'm happy. And we both make money. He wanted someone who could let him know what was going on and I wanted someone to promise me more of a living than I could get hauling cargo."

"But, you, ah, you're his, um…."

"Enforcer?" Martin's voice was darker than the shadows along the buildings.

"I-I guess."

As they trod through a circle of light from a lamp, Ned thought he saw Martin actually smile. He couldn't be sure if it was the ugly glimmer of that slight curve or the gleam in Martin's eye that was more shocking.

The man stopped suddenly and faced Ned. "Then I shouldn't have to remind you what will happen if you cross me."

A flush ran up his chest, his throat tightened. "I'm being honest with you. This whole trip to France wasn't my idea. This is Stern's grab at something, I can't even guess what. I just want to go home."

Martin seemed satisfied. "You will. I'll make sure of it."

Ned nearly laughed in relief. The dark shape of the boat nestled up next to a dock. For the first time in his life he understood the word sanctuary, even if he did have to spend the night with Martin.

* * *

Javier stowed Emily's small case at the foot of the bunks. "We can only get about as far as the St. Ouens by nightfall," he told her. "We will have to push pretty hard tomorrow to make Port-Villez."

"All right," Emily responded. "I'm going outside for some air."

Chase was outside with Annie, who sat on a stool still holding her parasol. Her eyes were trained on the buildings along the river. Emily looked along the banks as well. She'd never ventured beyond Rouen in the direction of Paris.

"Too much sun ruins the skin."

Emily turned to Annie. "I'm used to it." The woman's eyes were like emeralds making Emily's heart flutter at the remembrance of another pair of eyes that color.

"Society prefers a woman pale and delicate."

Emily grimaced, shooting a look at Chase. His dark eyes lit with amusement. "I've never been much to worry about society," she replied.

"Oh, that's correct. You're a farm girl aren't you?" Annie's eyes slid down Emily's dress dismissively. "You know a Frenchman came back from a trip to America. He wrote that American women were charming and adorable at fifteen, faded at twenty-three, old at thirty-five, and decrepit at forty."

"I never think of myself as faded. But then, I never set out to be colorful in the first place." Annie stiffened slightly. Emily patted herself on the back for turning the barb back on the woman.

She lifted a brow as she turned to look at Emily. "I did. It got me out of the slum I was raised in. I was a baby when I came to America. My Father gave all the money he had to another Irishman who promised him a good job. All we could afford was to share a tenement with one toilet for four floors. We slept three in a bed. My Mother patched our clothes year after year in between cooking and tucking my drunken father in bed. She birthed one baby after another because she was Catholic. Only three of us survived."

As her tale unfolded, Annie's fragile beauty seemed more of a mask than the white leather that Erik wore. She also seemed just as prickly as he did about the subject. Remembering Erik's tirade on right and wrong, she could see his point. If Annie had picked a career other than theft, she would be a woman Emily might have admired.

"I hear that you are divorced."

"Yes. His career was more important than his sense of honor, or me."

Emily felt Chase Kennard's eyes upon her. He shook his head as she faced him. "What a waste."

"Why thank you, Mr. Kennard."

Annie smirked. "That must have been before the guns."

"No. I just couldn't see the use in it. There would be blood all over and they probably would have made me mop it up before they clapped me in irons."

Annie laughed; a light trill that almost sparkled in the air. Good lord, Emily thought, no wonder men fell all over themselves around her. Gazing at the woman's profile she wondered how Charles had reacted to her.

Javier appeared at the dock. "We can go up to the café for a meal when everyone is ready."

"Care for a promenade, Madame Griggs?" Chase's smile vied with Javier's for it's ability to raise a woman's body temperature.

The Spaniard quickly inserted himself between them, offering Emily an arm. "We wouldn't want De La Shaumette to worry about you, would we?"

"I'll just get my handbag," Emily told him. Inside the cabin, she pushed the bag with her shotgun in it into a cabinet and stowed the box of shells in a separate one. She knew Javier would probably lock the door behind them. As far as she knew, no one would bother one of Erik's boats, but it never hurt to stray on the side of caution.

* * *

The next morning was cool. Rain clouds scudded overhead but passed without leaving a drop behind. It made the trip the distance to Port-Villez cool. The afternoon turned sunny, making the shirt he wore as Martin stick to his back and the black patch over his face feel damp. He'd almost forgotten how annoying this other mask could be.

His temper wasn't much better as they moored along the Seine. He glanced at his battered pocket watch. He'd told Chase Kennard to meet him at l'Esturgeon. He hustled Ned up the street to the where the tavern sat. Buying a shot of gin he sat with his back to a corner where he could see the door.

After an eternity of listening to Ned's chatter, Matin saw Javier at the door. Erik threw out franc notes on the table. "Come on. It's time to meet some people."

Ned looked around, but got up and preceded him out of the door. Erik watched Javier weaving around people and heading for the river.

It was time to get Ned and Annie back together and see which bird would gladly squawk. He rounded a street and saw the Nyx tied to the dock.

Ned Darlington caught sight of Chase Kennard standing on the deck and halted. Erik took hold of his arm and propelled him towards the boat, only stopping as he realized the woman who came out of the cabin was not Annie Reilly.

He redoubled his pace, remotely aware that Ned was stammering again and making accusations. "Not now," he ground out. His jaw felt so tight it nearly hurt to speak.

Chase watched Martin approach and glanced at Emily. "Want to borrow my pistol?"

She glanced sharply at him and returned a cool stare to Martin whose face normally looked carved from rock. The expression he turned on Emily Griggs should have made the poor woman hide.

"What are you doing here?" Martin's voice held enough menace to turn a man's guts to water. Emily Griggs merely looked at him.

"Hello, Charles. De La Shaumette sent me." She steeled herself for his next barrage, knowing all too well Martin's temper.

"What in God's name was he thinking?" Martin exploded.

Her brows fell and a hand drifted to her hip. "He was thinking, Annie being a woman and all, she would need someone to make sure she didn't slip away when it came to places men couldn't follow."

Martin made an inarticulate noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl. Chase couldn't miss the taught line of the man's jaw. His mouth was clamped in a flat line and he loomed over Emily like he would pick her up and shake her.

"Get in the cabin, and don't make any trouble," he finally gritted out. He snatched open the door and held it, glaring at Emily.

She made a tsking sound. "Charming as always, Charles."


	28. The Shell Game

**Twenty-seven: The Shell Game**

Martin gripped the door handle tightly. Emily stood examining him in a way that said she thought his reason had flown.

"I came out for a breath of air," she said. She glanced back at the town.

He shoved the door so hard it rebounded in the frame and came juddering back at him. He gave it a shove again.

Kennard had taken a hold of Ned's arm. "Javier?"

The door opened slowly behind Martin. His hand shot out and yanked on the doorknob which came off in his hand.

Javier pushed the door open with his foot, a pained look on his face. "Charles?"

Martin held the doorknob in his fist, and drew a breath in, hissing through his teeth. One very hard green eye shot to Javier's before Emily's voice intruded. "You broke the door?"

Javier watched the pulsing beat of a blood vessel at Martin's temple, expecting it to explode. The man's head swiveled slowly on his shoulder to look back at Emily. He lifted his fist and stalked to the edge of the boat, throwing the knob away in a smooth arc.

Emily watched the knob sail out over the river. Javier began praying a split second before she started to speak. "You, ah, need that to repair--"

Darlington and Kennard took a step away from the edge of the boat as Martin turned, hands on hips and glared at Emily Griggs. Martin breathed like he'd just run a race, shaking his head as if he needed to clear something out of his ears.

"—the door." Emily glanced away.

"I'll take care of it," Martin ground out.

Emily opened her mouth, but snapped it shut. He took a step towards her radiating anger that rolled along her skin like heat from an oven.

Martin turned to address Javier, "Keep them here." He reached for Emily's arm. "We are going to the train station."

Pandemonium erupted as Annie appeared in the doorway and caught sight of Ned, who began to decry Chase and Martin as liars. Emily dug in her heels as Martin reached for her arm. Kennard stood by, judiciously halting Ned's poking finger and Javier simply flung out an arm to keep Annie from going for Ned's throat. The air was electric with cursing in four languages and escalating tempers.

Emily shrank as Martin's hand reached for her. His febrile anger scorched away the man she knew, replacing him with a twin composed of hard and dangerous edges. She had only witnessed this level of anger in him once before, wondering if the civilized De La Shaumette was a ruse. Cold uncertainty suffused her spine. A different man faced her now, his emerald gaze an aberrant imitation of the loving looks he had always turned to her.

Martin grasped her arm, and felt Emily's fingers close over his. He heard her protests and felt her stumble, catching her foot at the edge of the dock. He halted in mid step to prevent jerking her arm. Her weight pulled at him and there was a ripping sound.

Emily stood agape, looking at the material in her hands as if it was a dove pulled from a magician's hat. "Sorry," she murmured, refusing to meet his eye. She released his shirt sleeve. A hole had opened along the seam of the shoulder.

He moved, looming close, looking down at her. There was something different about her face, an almost frozen emptiness to it. _Fear._ A pain as harsh as a blow to his chest made his breath hitch. Instinct whispered that Emily had seen a ghost. His ghost to be precise. She'd met the Phantom. The one creature whose tainted past would leave pain and ruination behind.

A gusting sigh accompanied his body's seeming to uncoil at the fringes of her vision. His voice was close and low, sounding tired. "Madame, you tore my sleeve."

Emily swallowed and felt her own trepidation seep away. Whatever had crossed his features as he had taken her arm was gone. The man who had surprised her by so resolutely informing her he would court her was looking down at her face. She nearly stepped into his arms, but recovered when the argument behind her caught her attention.

His face changed again, looking more annoyed. "Enough!" he roared.

Annie adopted a superior lift to her chin while Darlington looked pleadingly to Martin.

"In the cabin." His tone brooked no arguments.

With sullen looks that howled their anger and mistrust, the crooks let themselves be urged into the cabin. Martin took Emily's elbow and guided her to the door. "You should go back to Rouen."

"I can't," she replied softly.

She looked too small and too human and too much the woman he had come to love at that moment. With a slight shake of his head, he saw her smile. That gentle curve spoke so eloquently. It had captured his mind and his heart not so very long ago when she stepped unwelcomed into his life. She couldn't leave, for he would not let her go.

With a reassuring nod he pushed her towards the door, past Chase Kennard.

Ned and Annie glare at each other across the cabin in brittle silence as Emily stepped inside and stood next to Javier.

Martin joined Kennard at the edge of the deck near the water asking, "Anything new?"

"We know the auction house where the artifacts are. The sale will be three nights from now. Henri has secured rooms at the Hotel Istria in Montparnasse. It was the closest to where the auction house is. He's also supposed to have some more information for me about the man who brought the artifacts in." Chase paused to watch a boat pass. "I'd never pin something like this on Sterns. He's never seemed interested in art forgery before."

Martin mulled over the Pinkerton's words. "Is it possible he is under too much scrutiny and merely wishes to change his operation?"

"One thing bothers me about that," Chase replied. "He had Ned doing the work in Rouen. It doesn't seem to affect him that Ned has been caught."

"Are you thinking it is all a ruse to keep you occupied?"

Chase smiled. "If it is, it's working. I keep thinking about the bible. Maybe he was trying to tell Ned something."

"I don't see why. He has abandoned Ned, and Burns was the last contact with Annie. Why bother?"

"One of them must still be of value."

"Annie did tell Burns that you had Ned." A dozen thoughts sprang to his mind. "Sterns was sure you had Ned, and therefore the bust that he was working on. He couldn't be arrogant enough to believe that you would not find where the sale of the object would be." He paused to look at Chase, whose thoughts must mirror his own.

"Sterns planned on us bringing the bust here for him?"

Martin closed his eye briefly. "More than one crime planned, and the bust to keep us busy searching in the wrong place."

Chase snorted in disgust. "We've been conned."

"We aren't the only ones. He's already used Ned and Annie, and Burns to a degree. Is he ruthless enough to use all of the gang and then leave them behind?"

"I think Burns would start suspecting it might happen to him as well. That only leaves Sterns and Tully. Edward Tully is a thug. I can't see Sterns keeping him and dumping Ned. Ned has real talent."

"Yes, but he lacks the nerve. He's worried or he wouldn't have taken the chance trying to sway me to get him out of Rouen."

They fell silent, each man's thoughts racing. Martin finally spoke. "If one of them has value, then Sterns will come for them. Are you familiar with the shell game?"

Chase eyed the man. Martin had a lot of experience and he couldn't help but speculate as to where he had earned it. He was suggesting the oldest con of all.

On streets and at fairs, there was almost always an operator setting up a little table upon which he rested three cups and a ball. His 'audience' were shills, experienced fellow cons who would win a few guesses and then convince a bystander to guess where the ball was hidden. After building the confidence of the new player, the operator would take him for everything, the game would fold up, and the group move on.

"You're suggesting we keep Sterns guessing where the bust is?"

"We have Ned and the bust, and we have Annie. Moving them apart, we will see which one Sterns truly needs. We can also hide the bust and herd him where we want him."

The sounds of booted feet approaching the door made the occupants of the cabin turn expectantly. Kennard walked in with Martin in his wake, both looking grim. Chase spoke first. "Now that you both are back in Paris, and the bust is in our possession, we are going to use it as bait. One of you will get that information to Sterns."

"I c-can't," Ned sputtered. He glared at Annie. "She's the actress."

"But Joe was already willing to sacrifice me," she said hotly. "He won't trust me."

"That will work perfectly," Martin added. The cabin grew quiet as everyone looked to him. "Ned and I have thrown in together. He's convinced me to take the Egyptian bust and escape Rouen and Kennard, which we did. We have been seen along the river for the past two days. Kennard has you, Annie. Learning Ned escaped, he's brought you with him. That casts you in the light of being under his control.

"This is where we turn the tables on Sterns. Ned and the bust will be the bait. Annie will be most helpful in getting word to Burns that Ned is in Paris with Kennard. We then draw Sterns to where we want him."

Annie looked pensive. "How do I get the message out?"

Chase regarded her. "You can write it up at the hotel. Burns told you where he would be, so you can say you bribed a maid to carry it."

"And if you don't," Martin drawled, "Sterns walks away."

"In a pig's eye," she spat.

"This means we need to split up, lest anyone here see us arriving in the city together," Martin added.

"Annie and I can go in by train," Chase replied. He smiled at Emily. "There's room for one more at the hotel."

She looked to Javier and then Martin, who nodded. "You would be safe there. I'll stay with Ned on the _Erebus_ and Javier can bring in the _Nyx_. He can help run messages between us."

"Of course." Javier smiled. "I don't know about the rest of you, but there is a fine café in town." Resting an arm around Ned's shoulder, Javier guided him towards the door. "You should try the duck. The sauce is excellent."

Chase turned a slow smile on Annie. "Care to take in the local fair?"

Starting up the hill behind Javier and Ned, it was not lost to any of the group that Martin and Emily lingered behind.

* * *

Erik watched them walk up the hill, standing on the deck a respectable distance from Emily. "Can you live with this?"

She glanced sharply at him. "What? Going to Paris?"

"No." He gazed at her. "Should I say, can you live with me?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You mean, can I live with _him_?"

He said nothing, and she suspected that too many conflicting emotions welled up in him. His wanting to protect her had nearly let slip an old and awful wrath.

She wanted so desperately for a magic carpet to appear, a way to sweep them both away where they could be alone. One moment, one touch, would communicate so much. "Love is like building a house. If you make a frame and start adding boards to it, it becomes more stable, solid. You share your strengths with the other person, helping them through their weaknesses. It is working together that your ghost will have to learn. You can't be everything, Erik. Some things you just have to let go of and see the results."

"I don't like letting you go," he said tightly.

"I know," she soothed. "How about we compromise? You practice letting me go and I promise not to go too far?" She waited as he let out a deep breath.

Erik walked to the cabin door and examined the hole where the knob had fitted. Emily followed, expelling a gasp as his arm snaked around her waist and he swept her back into the dim cabin. His mouth came down on hers, questing. His arms tightened around her. The raw hunger in his kiss left her light-headed and breathing hard.

Erik felt a perverse amusement at the stunned look on Emily's face. "Not too far, _ma charmanté_, unless you enjoy the pursuit."

Her heart thundered. There was something tantalizingly dangerous in that kiss. "Darlin', that's a promise I'll hold you to."


	29. Two Pierres

**Twenty-eight: Two Pierres**

Martin let her go, stepping back out into the afternoon sunlight. "We must catch up to the others for the sake of our reputations."

Emily gave him a lopsided smile. "_Our _reputations?"

"I have a reputation, Madame," he retorted. "I cannot be seen as soft." He waited till she left the cabin. "I want you to stay clear of Annie. Watch her, but do not follow her if she manages to leave without Kennard knowing."

They started up the hill towards the café. "We are keeping Ned, but I do not think Sterns will come for him. If it were me, I would send the others. That means Javier or I will be relaying information to Kennard. You must stay clear of all this."

"All right."

"Do you still have the shell?"

She blinked at the shift in questions. "Yes, I'm wearing it."

He nodded seeming satisfied.

"I saw Maxine Sablon as I left in a cab. She saw it and told me the family would take care of me."

Martin stopped abruptly before the door of the café, the fire filling his gaze again. "Emily, I love you. As you value your life, do _not_ repeat that to anyone." He shoved open the door with a stiff arm, startling several people at tables nearby.

It wasn't hard to return his angry glare. With every answer came another question, another complication, and another reason that made her want to make sure her shotgun was loaded and close at hand. She stiffened her back and raised her chin a notch. "Don't worry about me, Charles."

The café was starting to fill with more customers. The others sat in pairs at small tables that were close in proximity. The room was painted in lemon yellow. The floor was tile, and the ceiling was wooden and low beamed. Several men in long white aprons under dark vests wove through the tables. Martin extended a hand, ushering her to join the others.

* * *

Javier had forestalled disaster by keeping the conversation lively. The snide comments between Annie and Ned gradually ground down and the entire group seemed eager to get the next three days over with.

They walked together down the hill to the _Nyx_. Martin made sure a cab was waiting as Chase and Javier helped the ladies with their luggage. Emily refused to be parted from the long bag she held. Chase gave her a knowing grin as he helped her up into the cab.

Annie Reilly stood inside the cabin pulling on a pair of lace gloves as Javier took her bags to the cab. Martin appeared by the door. She gave Martin an empty gaze.

As she moved to pass him at the door he told her in a low voice, "Don't cross me."

Annie walked across the deck to the cab, telling herself that rough, French thug had no idea what was coming. As the cab pulled away from the river, a smaller voice inside questioned, what if he did?

Emily joined Chase and Annie for breakfast the next day, arriving a little late. "Good morning," she said cheerily.

Chase stood and pulled out a chair for her. "Did you rest well?"

"Better than on the boat," she replied.

"How often do you travel on the boats?" Annie asked.

"This is only the second time. When I arrived at Le Havre from England, M. De La Shaumette arranged for one of his boats to pick me up."

"Not with that Martin, I hope."

"No. I met Charles later. He helped to investigate why the boat was damaged."

Annie sipped delicately at her coffee. Her every movement seemed practiced to showcase her graceful movements. For the first time in years, Emily felt absurdly self-conscious. Annie seemed perpetually at ease, which seemed amiss in the moist morning air of the city.

"Is this your first trip to Paris?" Annie asked.

"Yes. I've only been here a few months. As I'm employed, my travel has been limited. I am supposed to meet a friend in Belgium in a week."

"Ah. Business or pleasure?"

"A little business first in Ghent," Emily replied.

"Really? It's a pity you won't see Brussels," Annie sighed.

Emily hoped her smile did not appear edged. "Peter and I will take in some of the sights." She let the comment drop, omitting the fact that Peter Oldershaw had a wife and children traveling with him.

Chase sat back as the waiter came by to refresh their coffee. He glanced at Annie. "Did you happen to send that message?"

"Of course. You know I want to see Joe just as much as you do."

"Would you ladies care to take a ride? Henri and I would like to take a look at the building where the auction will take place."

Annie smiled winningly, turning to gaze at Emily. "What he means is that two gentlemen accompanied by their ladies are more likely to be taken as customers than investigators."

"I'd be delighted," Emily replied. It would certainly distract her thoughts from how miserable it felt to be in Paris, worrying that at any moment Charles Martin might remind someone on the streets of the mysterious disappearance of the Phantom.

Annie excused herself, "I'll just go get my parasol."

Chase leaned towards Emily after Annie had left the room. "I take it you don't require a parasol?"

She shot him a disgusted look. "No, nor gloves either. It's going to be hot as Hades today and I have better things to do with my hands than hold up a fluffy stick." Noting his wry grin she added, "I suppose I'm just not much of a dainty little thing."

"I'll take you and your Colt and your sensibilities any day, Madame Griggs." he rose and pulled out her chair. "If I wasn't ready to leave France, I might just give De La Shaumette some competition." He stayed close to her as she stood by her chair. "If Annie walks away from us, don't follow," he muttered in a low tone.

"Why Mr. Kennard, you do turn a girl's head." She returned his flirtatious smile, wondering who in the room might be taking this all in.

* * *

Henri Capegon had said the address was for a private home. The large gates framed a circular drive that led them up to the steps of a massive brick home that could only be thought of as a mansion. It sat amidst fine old trees and parterre gardens, a brooding example of the Second Empire period, looking out over row after row of newer town homes that crowded around its fenced perimeter.

The ornately carved wooden doors at the front swung open silently. A man in the livery of a butler stood tall and aloof as he regarded them. "Monsieur Capegon?"

Henri tipped his hat. "This is my business associate, Monsieur Kennard."

Emily stuck close to Henri. Annie and Chase brought up the rear. The butler's footsteps rang on the marble of the foyer as he led them deeper into the house, past a sweeping staircase. Pocket doors were open, revealing a dining room. Further on was a music room. The stairs and moldings were all of dark walnut. Egg and dart ornamentation decorated the frames of the doors.

Reaching the end of the hall, a pair of double doors flanked by carved lions' heads stood open. Inside what must have been a ball room was a podium for the auctioneer. Row upon row of chairs indicated the interest of Paris in the artifacts. Several other people milled to one side, examining a tall sarcophagus that took Emily's breath away. She'd seen pictures of the carved Egyptian coffins, but never an actual one. This one dwarfed the men before it; two large plumes rose above the serene carved face.

The men around the sarcophagus began to drift away as one of their number broke from them and headed for the doors. From the other side of the room came a shrill squeak as the lid of a container was pried open. Scattered over the polished wood floor were pieces of straw that must have come from the crates. The worker, who had opened the crate, now pulled out what looked like a jar capped with a carved face.

Emily looked past Henri to the man who approached. Although he must have been of middle years, there was a curious flatness to his gaze that made unease creep up Emily's spine. Immaculately dressed, he stood in a stiff way that said he was deigning to take the time to speak with them, though more important matters pressed.

"Monsieur Sédilot?" Henri asked.

"Yes. I take it you will be attending the auction?" His words were clipped.

Henri introduced Chase. Incredibly, the man did not even glance at Annie, who posed regally. As he talked to Henri, Emily took a step closer to the jar that sat upon the floor. It looked carved of some stone, with coloring added to the features of the face. Another jar was set next to it. This one had the head of a bird with eyes ringed in black.

Annie joined her, holding her folded parasol as if it were a cane. "I would think it would smell musty in here. These things are hundreds of years old aren't they?" She'd reverted to English.

"Thousands," Emily returned. "Egypt was old before Christ walked the earth."

Annie gazed at the jars. "That man Sédilot is as cold as a stone," she murmured. "All business."

Emily readily agreed with her. "He definitely doesn't do this for the joy of it. Importing these things must be costly, even if he expects a tidy profit."

"Maybe it's how he affords the upkeep on this house."

Annie strolled over to a display case. Under the glass was an assortment of what looked like pottery pieces fired in bright colors. "Where's the bust?"

"I didn't see anything like it. We may need to walk over by the sarcophagus."

They moved slowly. Emily glanced in the cases because she was interested in the artifacts. Annie prowled before them, sizing up how much they might be worth. They had navigated to the far side of the room as workmen opened more crates. Henri and Chase were several steps behind them still, looking in the display cases.

A movement caught Emily's eye. A young boy came into the room, sliding along the wall behind the workmen. Dressed shabbily, his dark eyes examined the men in the room. He stopped in the shadow of the tall sarcophagus. He peered over the edge of the crate the men had just brought in.

As Henri and Chase caught up to them, Emily watched as the head of a woman appeared, draped in a wig. Her serene eyes were mirrored by the slight smile she wore. In her ears were large golden earrings. A diadem crowned her head with a small golden flower at its center.

"Is that…."

Before Annie could answer, Gabriel Sédilot stalked over to the workmen. "Not that one," he barked. He shot a glance at Emily.

The men returned the bust to the crate. As they carried it back out of the ballroom, Emily saw the boy follow it.

Sédilot was saying something behind her. Chase and Henri rejoined them, and exited the ballroom while Sédilot was engaged with the other group. Chase and Annie both watched the progress of the crate through the halls. The men turned at a small hall.

"Servant's quarters," Annie murmured.

Chase nodded. "The servant's entrance. It's either stored in another building, or they are putting it back on a wagon."

"You mean it might not be kept here?" Emily asked.

"No way of knowing unless we can keep up with it," Chase replied.

"Oh, mercy!" Annie pulled out a hanky and started mopping at her face. She settled onto a low bench in the hall. "I think I've gone all faint. It's so warm in here."

As quickly as she spoke, Chase disappeared down the hall leaving Henri and Emily standing by Annie.

* * *

While Javier sat with Ned, Martin walked to the telegraph office. Per the instructions on the paper, he went to find a boarding house along one of the town's streets. Arriving at dusk, the lamp were being lit.

In a dark doorway stood two men. One as broad as he was tall and one who was dwarfed by his companion; they were both dark haired and bearded. The shorter one leaned against the building, smoke rising from a cigarette. "There is someone you want watched?"

Martin handed over a slip of paper. "Yes, and she's been dead for over a thousand years."

The man took in a lung full of smoke and smiled. "He's teasing us, Pierre."

His looming companion crossed impressive arms over his chest. "Pierre doesn't like teasing."

Taking in the large man's frown, Martin told him, "I'm not making a joke. On the boat is a copy of a bust from Egypt. The forger who made it is from that group of Americans. He's with the bust. We hope that by tomorrow night two men will come and attempt to take it, or the forger. Either one does not matter. We just need to know where the two men go."

The man with the cigarette nodded. "Where will you be?"

"Watching the real bust, assuming that I can find it."

"They're going to pull a switch?"

"I believe so. I just need to be sure where the two men go who come looking for the forgery."

"Or the forger?" the big man asked.

"Yes. I'm not entirely sure that the forged piece is what the men are after. I really won't know until they make their move." He glanced at the man with the cigarette. "There is a man, his name is Javier. He'll be with the boat and the forger. If they come for the man, he will follow. If they don't it will be up to you to follow the bust. How will I contact you?"

"Simple. At the tavern called the _Le Renard Hautain_." The man hitched a thumb at his chest. "Tell them you are looking for Petit Pierre."

"Or Pierre le Grand," his companion added.

Now it was Martin's turn to wonder if he was being jested with. "Do they ever get the two of you confused?"

"Sure," Petit Pierre replied. "We're brothers."


	30. Overtaking Thieves

**Chapter Twenty-nine: Overtaking Thieves**

Emily stole a glance towards the ball room. Beyond the door, she could just make out the bass rumbling of the men's voices. Annie sat fanning herself with a hanky. Henri had removed his hat and stood by patiently.

Annie's eyelids fluttered. "My, I don't know what's come over me."

Emily felt Annie's performance would not fool anyone as the men began to file out of the ball room. Stepping towards Annie, Emily withdrew her own hanky. "You just need a breath of fresh air. The morning is just too warm."

Annie lifted a hand to her brow. "Henri? Be a dear and go out front and see if Chase has called the carriage? I think I might be able to make it that far."

As the footsteps passed behind her, Emily hoped Gabriel Sédilot was not with them. He might notice Chase had separated from the group. Her fears were allayed when a man stepped forward. "May I be of some help?"

She recognized him from the workers in the ball room. Annie simpered. "Why thank you. That is most gallant." She fluttered her eyes. "I'm such a silly thing. I just felt warm suddenly. The air is very close in the other room."

While Annie carried on, Chase Kennard came from the small hallway. "The carriage is on the way, sweetheart. Are you feeling any better?"

Emily almost laughed. Even Annie seemed taken aback by Chase's choice of endearment. Despite her 'fainting spell', Annie recovered quickly. "This nice young man was just inquiring as to my health, sweetness." She turned a brilliant smile on the workman. "Thank you so very much."

After another round of sugar-coated thank you's, they began walking towards the main doors. Once they were situated in the carriage, Annie asked. "Where did they take it?"

"There is an outside entrance to what must be a cellar," Chase replied.

"I wonder if Joe knows the layout of the house already?"

"How?" Emily asked.

"He might be watching the comings and goings. If you buy a man a drink after his work day is over, he might confide what he carries up and down those stairs out back," Chase replied.

Emily glanced back over her shoulder at the dark windows of the house. What intrigues could they speak of?

* * *

Ned walked the cabin of the boat. The warm air made his neck itch beneath his collar.

"Do you read French?" Martin asked.

"Not very well." He walked the length of the cabin again. He turned and regarded Martin. "Do you speak any English?"

He held up a hand, indicating with the small gap between his thumb and forefinger his repertoire of the language.

Ned took up a seat on the stool at the opposite side of the small table. "Tomorrow is the auction. Do you think they will show up tonight for the bust?"

"Would you?"

Ned shrugged. "You'll be here won't you?"

"Are you afraid of Sterns?"

"I don't trust him anymore. I thought he was keeping us hidden away for our own safety. Now, I'm not so sure."

Martin waited patiently for Ned to continue. As the hour grew later, the edgier Ned became. "You think he's going to take the bust and leave you?"

"G-God, no," Ned sputtered. "I'm af-afraid he'll take me with him!"

* * *

Gabriel Sédilot walked quickly from the ballroom to the small front parlor that he had turned into an office.

"Monsieur? Shall I set the table for dinner?"

He glanced up at Madame Lomelle, his housekeeper. "Yes, that will be fine."

He sorted through the last bills of lading that rested in a stack at the edge of his desk. Some items had pre-sold. A number of them would rest in his cellar until the owners came to claim them. He lit his desk lamp as twilight cast long shadows over the house.

The clicking of Madame Lomelle's heels echoed in the hall. He closed a record book and sat down his pen. The woman would keep checking on the dining room until he finally went to sit down. Relenting, he straightened his coat and went for his dinner.

The table was built to seat twenty comfortably. At the far end, where his father had sat at its head, was laid a single service and a plate. A goblet for water and one for wine sat to one side. Jean Le Beau entered carrying a tray with covered dishes. He'd changed from his dark jacket to the house livery. Jean had been the head footman, taking his own father's place as butler and valet when Gabriel inherited the estate. The two of them had grown to men in the house as the fortunes dwindled and the family died.

Gabriel shook out his napkin and placed it in his lap as Jean lifted the cover off of the first dish. The hollow metal sound of the dome echoing in the empty room was interrupted by a clattering in the hall. Jean immediately went to the hall to see what was wrong.

* * *

Martin lit one of the cabin's oil lamps. Ned sat next to the open cabin door in the cool evening air. His eyes darted, watching people walking the water front.

"Be calm, Ned," Martin told him.

"Shouldn't we go somewhere?" Ned asked.

"Why?"

"You aren't—you aren't going to try to stop them are you?"

"Sterns?"

Ned shook his head vigorously. "You know as well as I do that Sterns won't show his face. He'll send Burns and Tully. Jim Burns knows how to pick locks and Tully knows how to crack skulls."

"True," Martin agreed quietly. "I had thought that myself." He considered Ned for a moment. "You and I will just sit here until your two former compatriots show up. After all," Martin said easily, "we have business together don't we?"

"Business?"

"Of course. You coerced me into bringing you to Paris. I want in on the deal."

Ned blinked, looking confused until the light of Martin's words sank in. "You really do expect to make money off of this? Burns and Tully w-won't do it without Stern's say so."

Martin smiled. "That's why you and I will accompany them and you will explain it for me."

Ned turned pale. "N-no. I can't see Sterns. You don't know him."

"Tell me," Martin prompted. "Tell me why I shouldn't just hand you over and claim they took you?"

"I just—I just don't want to see Sterns! I want the Pinkerton to get him, or the Sûreté. He deserves to get caught."

"Ned, you will all be shipped back together. What difference does it make if you are with Sterns when he is arrested?"

Martin waited. Ned looked like a man who was walking to the gallows. It was time to put the last bit of pressure on him. "Tell me about the bible."

* * *

Emily sat in her hotel room attempting to stay focused on her book. After the return from Sédilot's home Chase had left the hotel. She had no idea where Henri was, and everyone had warned her to stay clear of Annie.

The window in the room filled with sunlight as the hours wore on. It would be a wonderful sight in cooler times, but now the bright rays seared the air. Deciding it might be better to take a walk down to the front of the hotel, she slid on her shoes.

Eyeing the long dark bag that held her shotgun, she opened the wardrobe door. She hesitated. Wouldn't someone look through the wardrobe? Being a guest in France, she didn't want to chance being deported over a stolen gun. Going to her window, she thrust the bag through the opening and lay it just under the sill on the balcony side tucked out of sight.

Satisfied that it would be safe there, she picked up her book and her room key and went out into the hallway. she closed her door, hearing a soft, rhythmic thumping. She'd heard a sound much like that not long ago in her apartment building. Looking down the hall, there was no one else. The thumping continued as she walked towards the stairs, fighting the urge to look over her shoulder.

She reached the landing and went down just as a man with a cane appeared from the other end of the hall, walking towards Annie's door.

* * *

"What bible?" Ned spat.

"You said you don't read much French, but there was a bible in your room."

Ned's mouth opened. He snapped it closed and rubbed his palms along his thighs. "I got it in the mail. It was wrapped in brown paper. That's all I know."

"No return address?" Martin asked as the sounds along the river grew quieter and the shadows longer.

"No. Nothing. If Sterns sent it, he didn't put any note in it. I just stuck it by the bed." His expression turned mulish. "Who went through my room?"

"I did."

"Does Kennard know?"

Martin nodded. "I did tell him."

"I swear if there is something to that book, I never figured it out. There was no note, no return address, nothing."

"The key?" Martin prompted.

"That was the copy I made for the factory I was at. I was supposed to use the ovens for the decorations on the bust, but Sterns never sent more information."

Martin ran a hand over his chin. "Come on." He got up from the table. Ned popped up like a cork in water.

"What about her?" Ned's gaze rested on the crate.

Martin smiled. "What about her? We are worried about you aren't we?"

"Sure," Ned murmured.

Martin led the way back up the hill. "Let's get dinner."

As the two men disappeared from sight, another pair took up places in doorways along the hill. Petit Pierre sauntered closer to the boat while his brother sat in a darkened doorway and watched the street that ran before the river.

Jim Burns and Edward Tully watched the boat for a number of minutes. Seeing Ned and some man with a cloth over his face leave, they waited until they disappeared from view. Jim took out his pocket watch. When fifteen minutes had passed, he lifted a hand in a wave to Tully and stepped out of the store front's door he had stood in. Going to the boat, he opened cabin door and stepped inside.

Tully straightened as he saw a scruffy looking man walking towards the boat. He watched until the man got to the cabin and then followed. The door was already closed, so he crept up to it and noticed someone had looped a piece of rope through it for a handle. His hand slid through it as something landed on his shoulder.

Spinning, he was staring at the buttons on someone's shirt a few seconds before the world went black.

Martin guided Ned to a table in the café where Javier sat sipping a glass of wine. "Stay with Javier," he told Darlington. "No matter what, stay together."

He turned and left the café, heading for the _Erebus_.

The streets were still empty as he approached the boat. Pushing open the cabin door, someone had lit the lamps inside. At the table sat two very disgruntled looking men. The two Pierre's lounged against the cabinets watching them.

Petit Pierre lifted a hand in a mock salute. "As you instructed. Your pair of American thieves."

It was not hard to figure out which one was Tully. Beyond his crooked nose, his eyes were narrowed and his mouth a flat line. He radiated a kind of coiled anger as he took Martin in from head to toe. He sniffed dismissively, saying something in English that no doubt translated to 'I could take him'.

"You are welcome to try, Monsieur Tully," Martin drawled. He reached down and slid the slender shinning length of a stiletto out of his boot. "Now, where were you taking the lady?"


	31. Tickets

**A/N: Greetings all, and thank you for your patience! **

**Chapter Thirty: Tickets**

Jim Burns took a slow breath. Tully's expression darkened as the Frenchman with a covering over his face pulled a stool over to the table where they sat. The man causally balanced the stiletto he held, the tip of the blade on the table, giving a slow turn so the light slid along the blade.

Tully looked ready to explode. He never was one to look for the nuance in situations. He preferred to wade gleefully in with both fists swinging. That might get both of them invited into a form of trouble Jim didn't care for. Tully's pale blue eyes shot towards him. He crossed his arms on top of the table and looked away from the Frenchman.

"Come now, gentlemen." The Frenchman's tone insinuated he already had an intimate knowledge of his question. "We already know where the lady was bound to make her appearance. We simply wish to know how soon."

Jim slowly pulled his folded hands away from that slowly spinning blade. The blaze of light along its honed edge kept his attention straying back to it. Tully, however, must have seen it as a threat to him personally. Rather than playing it cool, his Irish temper surfaced in a ground out retort. "We don't know anything."

The Frenchman looked unconvinced. "Has it not occurred to you that you have been sold out?"

Tully's already ruddy face flushed an even darker color. His eyes slid over the two men who lounged against the cabinets in the room.

The Frenchman sat patiently. "Darlington is here. Annie is here." He lifted the stiletto and pointed it at Burns. "You received a note from her, and Sterns sends the two of you to retrieve the bust that he knew was in the hands of the Pinkerton."

"He wasn't surprised Annie had gotten caught," Burns murmured.

"Shut it," Tully spat.

"That bothered you?" the Frenchman asked.

"Yes. He was surprised at Ned being picked up, but expected Annie to be."

"She's clumsy and you know it…" Tully began.

"No, she's not. She took a chance coming over here just like you and me. She and Ned have been stuck out in the sticks ever since--."

The Frenchman's eye leveled on him and Jim Burns felt his stomach drop. "He's sold us out," Jim stammered. "We were to get the bust and get picked up."

Tully shook his head. "Not Joe!"

"No," Jim agreed. "Not Joe. Someone else."

Martin turned to the Pierre's. "One of you check the café where I left the American and the Spaniard."

Pierre le Grand was out the door swiftly.

* * *

Emily took a walk down the street. Being inside on a warm day with nothing to do was making her squirm. In Rouen she could at least expect to be traveling the city. She was in Paris, for heaven's sake, and all she'd seen of it was through the windows of cabs.

She'd strolled up several blocks and was working her way back when she saw vehicles parked in front of the hotel. Slowing, she watched as a man exited the hotel. Tall, with a ram-rod straight spine and a top hat, he walked with a cane clutched in his fingers. The steady tap of it on the sidewalk stirred the memory of the thumping on the stairs.

His cane!

She stepped into a doorway and leaned out, watching the man. He got into a stark black Berlin. The driver wasn't dressed in any livery, only street clothes.

The sleek, dark shape entered the street traffic and began a turn down the street where she stood. Emily turned quickly as the coach loomed closer. She watched it's reflection in a window as it passed her by.

Catching her own reflection, she shook her head, thinking herself indulging in fanciful imaginings. The man was probably another guest at the hotel.

She tuned and waited at the corner.

* * *

Gabriel Sédilot got up from the table, and was only a few steps behind Jean Le Beau who stood inside the door to the kitchen trying to calm Madame Lomelle. When she caught sight of Sédilot her voice lowered.

"It's him again," Jean said over his shoulder. "Do you want me to go get him?"

Sédilot started for the back door to the gardens of the house. "I'll take care of it."

In the shaded garden, the air was already cool. Sédilot went to the door to the cellar below the house and walked in. A shadow threatened to overwhelm the lantern at the bottom of the stairs. "Leave the light on," he said.

Arriving at the bottom stair, Sédilot looked over the crates that still filled the area. His uninvited guest must have moved behind one of them. He pushed his jacket aside and sat his hands on his hips. "Do you understand French?"

A thin voice replied, "Yes." After a pause it added, "Little."

Sédilot turned in the direction of the voice. "Upstairs," he said tiredly. "I'll have Madame Lomelle feed you in the kitchen."

From between two crates, a thin arm shot out, a rigid finger pointing accompanied by a spate of Egyptian that Sédilot could not keep up with. Sensing something urgent in the boy's tone, he walked to the area that the boy pointed.

Sédilot stopped before a pair of smaller crates. "What?" He raised hands to indicate he didn't understand.

The boy slid out into the light. Raising two hands he made a scooping motion.

Sédilot ran a hand over the two crates. As he moved, the toe of his shoe struck something. Leaning over he picked up a crow bar.

Sweeping up the bar, he pulled forcefully at the lid and saw the swath of cloth that covered the bust of the Queen. His relief wilted as he took in the dimensions of the piece in the dim well of light. He raised a hand, waiting for the boy to bring the lantern over.

With great care, he ran questing fingers through the straw that protected the piece. It was neither the shape nor the weight of the lady's effigy. Setting the piece on the crate beside it, he pulled at the protective sack cloth.

"Anpu," the boy said. "Anubis."

The jackal headed mask sat with accusing obsidian eyes. Sédilot looked at the boy. "Where is the Queen? The lady," he added pointing to the funerary mask.

The boy extended a hand.

Sédilot recognized the motion. The little gutter snipe had stolen aboard the ship and followed the artifacts. He'd been caught twice attempting to remove the heart scarab from the display upstairs.

Sédilot rocked back on his heels. "Is the Queen still here?"

The boy nodded.

Sédilot smiled reluctantly. "You want to trade? The amulet for the lady?"

The boy gave a curt nod.

Sédilot stood. "Upstairs," he said, pointing to the door out of the cellar. "It's the least I can do for you, as you must have surprised someone in the act of stealing our Queen."

* * *

Emily went down to the dining room. After giving the waiter her order, she saw Annie coming down the stairs. She'd changed into a dinner dress of emerald silk trimmed in pearl colored silk ruffles with point appliqué lace. Even though she had not left the hotel, she was dressed as if dinner were some grand affair.

"Dining alone?" Annie asked.

"Would you care to join me?" Emily offered.

Annie waited until a waiter came through the room and pulled out her chair. She gave the man a charming smile as she picked up the evening's menu. After the staff came by and took their orders, Annie sat back in her chair and gazed at the other dinners. "I'm sick of hotels." She laughed feebly. "I never thought I'd hear myself say that."

Noting Emily's interest, she commented, "I got a job as a maid. That's how I met Jim burns. I used to watch the halls while he…" she paused to look at the nearest table. She continued on in a low voice, "While he would search the room."

"He taught you?" Emily asked.

"Eventually. I had to work hard to convince him I could do the job. Jim saw to it that I got the training in confidence work." She cocked her head and peered at Emily. "How did you come to France?"

"It was absolutely a lark that I applied for it and was hired. I worked at the Remington factory. They wanted to expand in to Europe and needed representatives that spoke French of Italian."

"What about Prussian and Spanish? Didn't they want to sell to those countries?"

"The keyboards aren't that different for them. French and Italian are arranged differently. I had to be able to type on a French keyboard as well as speak French."

"Chase says that man you work for is courting you. Did you come here for that as well?"

"No," Emily replied honestly. "That wasn't one of the things Remington promised me."

"I'm surprised they sent a woman."

"No more than I. I knew the guns. I'd worked on that line for a while. And I could shoot. With the Wild West shows travelling the continent now, they thought it might increase their chance at publicity."

"Are you any good at it?"

Emily considered what Annie was inferring with her question. Waiting until a waiter filled her wine glass, Emily sat forward with a smile. "It's hard to miss much with a shotgun."

* * *

Martin glanced at Petit Pierre. "As soon as your brother returns, you two can leave. The Sûreté will be coming for these men."

Pierre lifted his chin in the direction of the crate. "We'll take her to the wagon."

Martin looked back at the two Americans. "What more do you know?"

Tully fixed Burns with a panicked look. "Police," he hissed in English.

The Frenchman got to his feet. "You will be in a French jail until your entire gang is rounded up." He made a curious movement with his hand. The flashing stiletto rolled from his grip, over the back of his hand, and returned to his palm. Jim might have been impressed if he had paid better attention. His thoughts were filled with the echoes of Joe's words after he had gone to see Annie.

"He wasn't surprised," he repeated.

Tully continued to watch the blade slowly spinning in the Frenchman's hand. It was the sort of trick an acrobat would know, or a magician. The casual menace in the man's movements was hypnotizing.

Burns spread his hands on the table top. "He said he was surprised Ned got picked up. He said Annie would be all right if she kept her head and didn't panic."

"So?" Tully spat.

"He said what happens to her is her decision." He fisted a hand and wrapped on the table top. "Don't you see? All this started after Joe took that side trip."

The stiletto froze almost in mid air. "What trip?" the Frenchman asked.

"What are you talking about?" Tully growled. "Joe made lots of trips."

"He made one with Annie," Burns said.

Doubt clouded Tully's eyes. "What trip?"

"Yes," the Frenchman said softly. "What trip?"

Jim Burns fisted his hands together. "They went out. Said they were going to check a jewelry store. I waited in Joe's room after they got back. He'd slung his coat over the bed and went to wash up."

Tully's eyes were brimming with malice. "You lousy little sneak! You filched his pockets!"

Burns lifted a shoulder in a listless shrug. "Habit." He glanced at the Frenchman, whose one eye glittered in the lamp light.

The Frenchman crossed his arms over his chest. "What did you find?"

Burns cleared his throat. "A ticket stub for admission to that museum, the Louvre."

Tully let out a hoot of laughter. "Jim, me boyo, Joe's a sucker for history. That doesn't mean anything."

To the Frenchman it did.


	32. The Black Coach

**Chapter Thirty-one: The Black Coach**

Javier Fernandez glimpsed the tall, broad figure of Pierre le Grand who moved in front of the café's window. He turned his attention back to Ned Darlington.

"Drink up, Ned. It's time to go back."

The American finished off his glass of wine. "Thank you, Javier. You and Martin have treated me very well."

There was finality in his voice. Javier peered at him for a moment. "You'll be on your way home in a few days. Don't sound so glum."

A smile twitched at the corners of Ned's lips. "Home. I'll be so glad to get back."

Javier raised a finger, signaling the waiter for the bill and withdrew his wallet. Ned stood and shrugged on his coat. As they went to the door of the café, Pierre le Grand crossed the street a dozen feet in front of them with a curt nod and started towards the river.

Getting closer to the space where the Erebus was moored, Javier felt a pressing desire to look over his shoulder. He took a quick glance up the street.

"What is it?" Ned asked.

Javier shook his head. "Nothing." As they walked on, he listened, hearing nothing along the street but their own footfalls.

Turning the corner, he noticed Pierre le Grand walked along with his hands in his pockets and his head down. Passing the corner of a building, a large dark coach sat parked at the curb. Coming abreast of it, Javier eyed the glossy coats of the two ebon horses that stood before it. A man walked towards him. He realized then, that Ned was no longer beside him.

Javier took a step out into the street, putting himself where he could see Ned and the man that waited. Atop the coach the driver kept his eye trained on him as well.

"Walk away," Ned warned.

The man who stood near the horses matched Javier in size. The Spaniard did not doubt he was armed. He kept his eyes trained on Javier.

"Walk away, Javier. This has been planned for a long time." Ned moved passed him. The other man stood watching Javier until Ned got to the coach's door.

When the driver raised his whip, Javier walked backwards, out of the way of the coach. He let out a breath as the horses started to move, the creek of the wheels and their iron shod hooves filling the small street with noise. As the coach turned, he could not see inside.

Javier mouthed a quick prayer of thanks. Who ever wanted Ned Darlington didn't appear to care one way or another whether he left behind any witnesses.

* * *

Gabriel Sédilot went up the stairs, motioning for the boy to follow him. "Come on," he coaxed in a mild voice. "You must be hungry. Madame Lomelle has been in high dudgeon over your thefts from the kitchen. If you are staying here, you might as well upstairs."

He paused and looked at the reed thin boy, whose dark eyes had lost the look of a child's. Too many years on the streets had hardened him into an adult in a small body. The boy was wary of entering the house while the staff was about.

Gabriel pulled open the kitchen door. "Go on." He stood aside for the boy to pass. "What's your name?"

The boy stalled inside the door. Jean Le Beau stood by the table. He and Madame Lomelle turned as one when Gabriel spoke. "Jean, do you think Professor Badawi might be persuaded to act as an interpreter for me? Our young guest surprised someone in the cellar. I wish to find out all I can from the boy."

Jean nodded. "I shall go at once."

Madame Lomelle glanced over the edge of the table at the worn clothes and sandals on the boy's feet. "Lord, he must have travelled all the way on that steamer like that." Her voice softened. "Come on. Let's get you some dinner."

As she bustled towards the pantry, Gabriel looked down at the boy. "What's your name? _Ma ismok_?"

"Husani," the boy replied.

He offered no last name, and as no family came with him, Sédilot assumed he must be a child of the streets. He pointed to a chair before the long kitchen table.

The boy sat down, his dark eyes darting to every object in the room. Madame Lomelle slid a plate with sliced bread before the boy. She twirled like a top, setting down a glass, then another spin and a plate with meat and vegetables on it. She turned again and produced silverware in her hand. Holding them aloft, she pointed towards the line of sinks. She held up a finger, indicating 'first' and pointed again.

Husani bobbed his head and climbed to his feet. One sandal's sole was loose, slapping the tiled floor as he went to wash his hands.

Madame Lomelle tsked. "Poor child."

Sédilot held his tongue, smiling to himself. Not half an hour before the woman was ready to chase the boy down and whip him for stealing from her kitchen. He turned on his heel. "I'm going to finish my dinner. Jean should return with someone who can talk to the lad."

* * *

Petit Pierre returned with a nod, indicating the cabin door. Martin rose from the stool and went outside. The larger Pierre stood, breathing hard. He hitched a thumb up the hill. "A coach was waiting."

"Watch the Americans." Martin vaulted up onto the street and started running up the hill. Scanning the streets he passed for any sign of Javier, he nearly bowled the man over as they both reached a corner at the same time.

"A coach was waiting," Javier blurted. "Black, black as sin, even the horses. I couldn't see inside as it passed. I only saw the driver and another man. Ned said to walk away, that this had been arranged for a long time."

Martin looked him over. "You all right?"

Javier reached inside his shirt and pulled out the silver crucifix he always wore. Planting a quick kiss upon it he smiled. "God loves me. What can I say?"

Martin gave a short bark of laughter. "Say 'thank you' in the charity box at your parish. Even God might get tired of pulling your feet out of every fire." He slapped Javier on the shoulder. "We need to check the boat."

They started back down the hill at a fast clip. "I don't mind telling you," Javier put in, "I had my doubts this time."

"We're out of our depth on this one, Javier. We have gotten mired in something that we might not been able to get out of."

The Spaniard glanced at Martin's set features. "Emily's all right. She's in a public hotel."

"So is Annie Reilly."

* * *

"I'm going upstairs." Emily brushed her lips with her napkin. Bringing the meal to a close, she no longer wished to sit with Annie. Although their conversation had been interesting, it felt too much like a game of deflecting subtle questions.

Chase and Martin had both warned her to keep her distance from Annie. Every hour that passed brought all of them closer to the event that would bring an end to this affair. If Annie was going to disappear, now with Chase gone would be the most opportune time.

Annie gave her a dismissive smile as she picked up her wine glass. Emily headed for the glass doors that separated the dining room from the front of the hotel. Her footfalls were muffled as she stepped onto the dark patterned carpet of the lobby. On the other side of the windows, the street before the hotel was turning to purple shadows. Emily's heart beat harder as she saw a team of dark horses slowly pass the window.

Head down, she glanced through her lashes as the shape of the dark coach loomed on the other side of the glass. She lifted the bottom of her skirt to climb the stairs, when she noticed the rhythmic thumping. She stilled and listened to the sound draw closer. This was not the man with the cane, it was a deeper sound that made gooseflesh travel up her arms.

Not wanting to get stuck on the stairs, she turned and went back to the concierge's desk. Picking up a small pamphlet, she opened it upon the desk top and stood, looking it over as the thumping stopped. Reflected behind the desk in the glassed front of a cabinet door, she saw two men pass behind her, spaced by a distance that could only be the length of a trunk.

When the hotel's door swung closed behind them, she folded up the pamphlet and slid it into her bag, turning back to the stairs. Her heart beat in her throat as she set her foot upon the first stair. She heard a door opening, and the corresponding muffled steps from the dining room.

"Enjoy your stay in Paris." It was Annie's voice, taunting in its silken menace.

Emily stopped and turned to look down at the woman. The man who held the door open turned a disapproving glare on Annie.

It was just on the tip of her tongue, a silly, but grating retort to the woman's flippant remark. It died on Emily's lips as her gaze slid to the front window. Framed by the casement's molding and the lace was the man with the cane. His light colored eyes were trained on Annie, but slid to Emily. The look in his eyes could have frosted the glass in the window.

Emily grabbed her skirts and ran up the stairs.

Pulling open her bag, she yanked the key out and slid it straight into the lock. Pushing the door open with her body, she rounded and put her back to it as she worked the key in her shaking hand back into the lock and turned it.

The room was turning dark. She'd left the window open to allow the last of the afternoon's heat out before going to bed. A man's voice floated up from the street, his tone strident.

Listening at her door, she heard heavy footfalls. With little time to think, she pushed her small portmanteau off of the bench it rested on and shoved the bench before the door. Reaching into the wardrobe, she made a grab for the box of shells she had hidden with her shoes. In her hurry, the top flipped open, the shells clinking like small brass bells as the tumbled out.

Running to the window she bent to reach over the ledge where she had hidden her shotgun. As her fingers closed over it, she saw Annie being handed into the coach. Two men looked up, seeing her at the window.

With accuracy born of long practice, her fingers closed over a shell. Time accelerated, ticking off with each of her heart beats. Voices sounded outside her door. The shell slid smartly into the receiver. Her eyes pinned to the coach, she swung the shotgun up and took aim.

An instant passed. Her finger coiled around the trigger. The two men by the coach looked up with widening eyes. They spun towards the back, rounding the coach's dark shape as Emily exhaled and pulled the trigger.

The smoke from the barrel wafted slowly before her eyes. The street echoed with the thunder of the discharge. The horses screamed. People scrambled into doorways and the large coach lurched into motion. Footsteps beat a tattoo away from her door.

She let the gun slowly lower. At the last, she'd aimed it upwards, over the roofs of the buildings along the street. The pandemonium below her was coming to a close. Someone was knocking excitedly at her door. Emily relaxed against the window frame.

How was she going to explain this to the concierge?


	33. Heart of a Queen

**A/N: Thanks for your patience. This is a long one to catch us up.**

**Chapter Thirty-two: Heart of a Queen**

Chase Kennard heard the thundering echoes of the gunshot from three blocks away. Banging a fist on the roof to stop the cab, he slammed the door closed and pushed a wad of bills into the driver's hand.

Running to the hotel, he wove around the confused Parisians who stood looking along the street for the source of the shot. Sliding in the hotel's door, he rushed past a number of people who milled in front of the dining room door. He took the stairs two at a time and rounded the corner to the sight of several men standing before Emily Griggs' door, tentatively listening.

"_Excusez- moi,"_ he said, pushing past the men. "Emily!" He tried the doorknob. "Emily, it's Chase. Are you all right?"

Inside the room, Emily took out the spent shell and tossed it down into a large pot of flowers that graced the hotel's front window. Setting the shotgun aside, she realized she didn't have the room key. "One moment," she called through the door. She took a seat on the bench she had dragged over and took a deep breath. On the carpet near her feet was the room's key. She bent to pick it up, noting her hands shook, and pulled the bench aside.

Chase waited until the door unlocked. "I'm coming in." He held up a hand before the waiting men, and slide inside the door. "Are you all right?"

Emily sat on the end of the bed, a hand on her forehead. "I think so," she said, a little breathless.

"What happened?"

"Annie. We had dinner downstairs." Stopping to clear her throat she motioned towards the street. "Two men came through with a trunk, and then another was waiting at the hotel's door for her. She said," she paused again, rubbing at her forehead. "I can't even remember what she said."

"That happens," Chase assured her, kneeling down before her.

"I looked out of the window. I'd seen a coach pull up. One of those great big ones like you see in illustrations of Cinderella. Two big horses at the front."

"A berlin?"

She stopped and looked at Chase. "Yes. One of those. All black."

"What happened next?" he asked gently.

"A man. Tall, with these icy looking eyes. Top hat. I saw him through the window, Chase. And he saw me. I knew right then that they weren't going to just pick up Annie and leave."

"Did they chase you up here?"

"I ran!" She rested a hand on the footboard of the bed. "I heard someone coming. I wasn't going to take the chance of getting caught on the stairs."

"So you got into your room and got the door locked?"

"Uh-huh. I shoved that bench over in front of it."

"Why the gun?"

"Only thing I could think of to get them to leave me alone." She gazed at Chase for a minute. "I took the chance that they wouldn't be armed. I needed to show them to stay away from me."

A grin lit Kennard's chiseled features. "I don't think anyone in Paris is going to be bothering you." He got to his feet. "Sit a spell. I'll take care of those fellows in the hall." With a booted toe, he pushed aside a few of the shells that had toppled onto the carpet.

Chase exited the room and put his back to the door. "_Pardonnez-moi, qu'il semble qu'il y avait un raté."_

In the lobby, people parted before the tall, lean figure of a man. He, too, took the stairs two at once, eating up the distance between himself and the scene that awaited him. He saw the American attempting to calm a cluster of men in the hallway.

They stopped talking as he approached, stepping back from the door. He nodded once at Kennard, and pushed open the door. Emily Griggs looked up.

Martin closed the door. In three long strides he was beside the bed, with Emily clinging to him. He held her, his breath shuddering as hard as hers. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. "Just scared witless is all."

He ran his hands down her back, swept up her sides. "Are you sure? I heard the gunshot." He dislodged her arms about his waist and took a step away so that he could see her face. "What happened?"

"Annie left. Someone came for her, and I think I saw him through the window. I was afraid he was going to send men up after me."

"What did you shoot at?"

"Nothing, I just fired over the rooftops to scare the horses."

"Horses?" Martin lifted her face with his hand. "A coach?"

Emily's eyes grew large. "Yes. All black with black horses. I'd seen it earlier today."

"Get your bags packed," he commanded. "You're coming with me to the boat."

Confusion crossed her features.

"I want you where they cannot find you."

"They?" she asked. "You know who it was?"

"No, but Javier has seen them as well. They knew where to find Ned."

"Ned…?"

"He's gone. And we will be soon as well." He released her and went to the door, holding it open for Chase to enter. Once the Pinkerton was inside he told him, "The same black berlin came and picked up Ned Darlington not an hour ago. I'm taking Madame Griggs to the boat for her own protection."

"So Annie and Ned were in this together."

"Javier will stay with Burns and Tully until the Sûreté arrives, then he will move the boat. I have the Egyptian bust downstairs in the wagon. I can take it wherever you wish. But," he paused, "Burns said that Annie had taken a trip with Joe. They lied and said it was to look at jewelry stores. He found a ticket in Joe's pocket for the Louvre."

Chase let out a low whistle. "That's beyond Sterns. Even he doesn't have the gumption to attempt that one alone. He's working with someone else." He glanced at Emily. "We can move you to another hotel, if you would rather."

"No," she said quickly. "I'd rather go to the boat. Charles has had to watch over me before."

"Where will I be able to find you?"

Emily turned to Martin. He replied, "We can moor at the end of the Rue de Javel by the market."

"Can we meet at Sédilot's, in say, an hour? Someone was in his basement this afternoon."

Martin gave a curt nod.

Chase offered a hand to Emily, which she gripped. "You keep your head down, girl. This will all be over soon."

"Thank you, Chase." She smiled tiredly.

As the door closed behind Kennard, Martin turned the key in the lock. He paced towards her slowly, a glint in his one uncovered eye. He rested a hand on the footboard next to her and leaned close to her face. He gave a small shake of his head. "What will I have to do with you to keep you out of trouble?"

She considered her answer as she captured her bottom lip with her teeth. "You're angry?"

"No," he closed his eyes. He laughed; a gentle rumbling sound. "For once I'm thankful for your insistence on bringing your shotgun."

The surge of adrenaline was ebbing in her body, but now her hands shook for another reason. "Darlin'," she said in a hushed voice. "I've never been that close to shooting someone."

It was written in her features, a horrified certainty that she had come close to making the choice of life and death. He wrapped her slowly in his embrace, fitting her body to his. "It is a bridge you do not want to cross, and once crossed it is one you must walk alone." He rested his cheek against her hair, her wonderful hair that topped her wonderful body that held her wonderful, brave heart. He reached between them to lift her face, his lips hovering above hers. "You made the right decision."

Although she felt she was right, his saying it gave it validity she had not understood that she had wanted.

"Get packed. We will go to Sédilot's home and see what Chase will do with the bust."

Emily took her other dress out of the wardrobe as he lifted her portmanteau onto the bench. She quickly repacked and stepped back, allowing him to close the case. Looking about the room one final time, she found her handbag lying on the floor where she had hastily dropped it.

Martin lifted her shotgun from near the window and opened it to check that it was unloaded. Sliding it inside its dark case, he slipped the strap over his shoulder. "You have everything?"

"Yes."

He stood looking at her from across the other side of the bed. His uncovered eye glittered. Emily followed his glance at the pillows. "It seems a shame to waste a hotel room."

Emily flushed, feeling the warmth travel to heat her face.

He didn't say another word. He didn't need to. She could feel the pull of his longing for her. Soon, it would be much more than even her wary sense of propriety could shun. She wanted it as much as he did, if she let herself admit it.

"Yes," she said. Maybe it was time for another proposal.

* * *

Martin unlocked the door and stepped out into the hall. A pair of men still stood arguing as he approached. When one began speaking, Martin shoved Emily's case at him. "Out front in the wagon." He waited a split second for the two to gape at him then added in a low voice, "The wagon?"

He turned his back on their sputtering and stood waiting at Emily's door. She came out and grasped his hand, walking quickly past the men. Down the staircase and out the door, it was almost comical to listen to their questions that neither he nor Emily answered.

In front of the hotel, the man with the case pushed it into the hands of one of the staff and waved towards the wagon. Martin offered Emily a hand up. Walking to the back gate, he made sure the case was secured and then climbed aboard.

* * *

Gabriel Sédilot got up from the kitchen's table as Jean led a woman forward, introducing her as Dr. Badawi's niece. "Mademoiselle." He bowed without offering his hand. He did not remember Dr. Badawi ever mentioning how many of his family members had come to France.

Raziya Badawi was attired in a western style Walking dress. Its dark maroon was relieved by cream colored lace at her throat and wrists. A row of wide variegated ribbon added gold, greens and blues, trimming the dress down the front and around the skirt. She wore a Tuscan straw hat trimmed with the same ribbon. Her eyes were a light sherry color that complimented her café au lait skin. She dipped her head, "Monsieur Sédilot."

Her voice slid over Gabriel, warm and stirring. Their eyes locked a moment longer than propriety allowed. There was a slight gap between her front teeth that captured his interest even more. He recovered and indicated the boy. "This lad says his name is Husani. He startled someone in my cellar and I wish to know who."

Raziya noted the table, and sat in one of the chairs. She greeted the boy warmly in her native tongue, asking him how he came to France. Husani launched into the tale with gusto, gesturing with one hand. He climbed from his chair and made motions: walking, hiding, and even sleeping as the story wound on. Raziya sat nodding and asking questions. Several times her brows lowered slightly and her glance slid to Gabriel.

When the boy finally wound down, she folded her hands upon the table's top. "He saw a man coming down the stairs, who began searching the crates."

"Was he dressed as one of the workers?"

Raziya asked and Husani shook his head vehemently. He went to the line of sinks and pulled one of the dishtowels out, holding it up.

"White cotton," Gabriel mused. He turned to Jean. "Whoever he was, he might come back. I don't want the auction jeopardized." He told Raziya, "Thank you, Mademoiselle."

Raziya stood. "The boy should come with me."

Sédilot glanced at Husani. "Has he asked?"

"No, but you are hardly acquainted with our customs. Husani is Muslim,' she waved a hand at the dishes. "Will you cater to his food restrictions?"

A faint smile twitched at Gabriel's lips. "I believe the child is less worried over what sort of food he has than the fact he has any. He's been a street boy."

Raziya Badawi did not find his comment amusing. "Regardless of his prior status, you are hardly prepared to take care of him. He's been sleeping in your cellar."

"I didn't mean anything by that," Gabriel replied. "He got here as a stow away on a ship from Egypt. He's hardly a member of the consulate."

"Yes, a ship," she mused, "more contraband from my country."

Gabriel forced himself to relax. The young woman obviously believed him to be robbing her country's store of ancient art. Her chin lifted, daring him to refute it. "I run a business," he explained.

"It's all business, isn't it?" She let the comment drop, her barb touching him more than he would admit.

"Why did he take my rug?" Madame Lomelle asked.

"The faith of Islam asks that he pray five times on his knees facing Mecca," Gabriel told her. "He probably took it as a prayer rug."

Madame Lomelle shook her head. "We could have found you something better than that old thing." She smiled at Husani.

Raziya explained her words and Husani smiled. "_Shukran_," he replied.

"Merci," she corrected.

Approaching footsteps caught Sédilot's attention. Jean led in two men, introducing them as Messer's. Kennard and Capegon. The elder stepped forward. "We visited earlier today." He indicated the younger man. "This is Monsieur Kennard of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency."

Before Sédilot could speak, the American detective pointed out of the window towards a wagon that was rolling to a stop outside. "And that will be your artifact."

"Monsieur, you have me at a disadvantage."

"I'll be happy to explain."

* * *

The occupants of the house and their guests all trouped outside to the tail gate of the wagon where a man with a dark covering over half of his face waited. Kennard made a quick introduction. "Monsieur Sédilot, this is Monsieur Martin. He helped to bring the bust here."

Martin pulled out a crow bar and opened the crate. Reaching inside he drew out an object wrapped in burlap. Carefully placing it upon the gate of the wagon, he pulled a piece of the material aside.

Husani began speaking excitedly to Raziya Badawi. Sédilot approached the bust, pushing the material away from it so he could see it fully. "This is remarkable. I hadn't thought anyone could have copied it so quickly."

"We recently lost the forger. We believe the leader of the gang will show up here for the real bust." Kennard told him.

"He's been here, I think. Husani saw a man in my cellar today." Sédilot indicated the boy who gazed at the bust.

Husani reached for Raziya Badawi's hand, chattering quickly. She looked in the direction of the cellar doors, and then at Sédilot who gazed at her with questioning eyes. "He says he protected her for you. You have something he needs."

Sédilot straightened. "Yes. He wants one of the heart scarabs upstairs in the display as a reward." He clasped his hands behind his back. "I suppose it is little enough of a price for such a thorough watchman, although I can't understand what he wants it for."

Raziya's eyes held such an unguarded look that Sédilot momentarily forgot there was anyone else in the world but her. A feeling came over him he had never experienced before. He saw the future in her eyes.

Kennard cleared his throat. "We should get this downstairs. Sterns will be back."

"What about the rest?" Martin asked.

Chase knew he was asking about the Louvre. "The Sûreté will be taking care of that loose end."

Gabriel Sédilot looked at Husani, who stood expectantly. "Go on, boy. I know very well you can get into that case, locked or not."

Raziya interpreted and Husani sprinted for the kitchen, one sandal flapping as he ran.

* * *

Darlington's handiwork was carefully wrapped and nailed inside the crate that had held the original bust of the Queen.

Emily had gotten down with Martin's help and followed the group as they watched Husani bring down a small object. He went to the back of the cellar and pointed.

Sédilot gaped. "That's just one of the mummies. It's not in very good condition."

Raziya stood behind Husani. "He says it is hers."

"What?" Sédilot pointed to the crate. "Are you telling me that is the Queen?"

Husani nodded solemnly, speaking to Raziya. "He was with the thieves when they desecrated her tomb. She is bound to wander for all time, unless he gives her the heart back."

Sédilot got a crow bar and started working on the top of the crate. The group watched quietly as Husani knelt down and pulled aside the burlap that covered the shriveled features of the woman. Emily could just see the face, with braids of hair still clinging to the skull. Her lips were shrunken, and her mouth was open as if she was gasping.

"Mutnodjmet. Queen of Egypt," Sédilot intoned the awe apparent in his words.

Husani placed the scarab between the hooks of her dried hands. Raziya stood by him. "Beloved of the sun and moon, Mistress of the Two Lands, Life, Health, and Prosperity."

The soft silence that enveloped the cellar was broken as the woman and the boy began a wailing

ululation that made goose bumps run up Emily's arms. She stepped closer to Martin, touching the fingers of his hand behind the folds of her skirt.

Madame Lomelle reached in her pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. Sédilot gave her a brief hug. "They are mourning their Queen," he whispered.

Husani and Raziya stood gazing at the woman who could now be assured of a heaven in the Field of Reeds. Raziya sniffed and turned to Sédilot. "Thank you. Will she be sold now?"

"No," he replied softly. "I think her home will be here."

"Thank you," she said again.

Sédilot knew without a doubt, he had just made the most important decision of his life. "Come upstairs. Monsieur Kennard has a thief to catch."

"You need anything else?" Martin asked Kennard.

He shook his head. "No. I'll just stay right here until Sterns shows up." He offered a hand, and Martin gave it a brief shake. "Maybe we can have dinner together before you go back to Rouen."

Martin nodded. He guided Emily up the stairs.

* * *

Emily waited by the cabin's door, letting the breeze and the sound of the river lapping at the edge of the dock lull her. Today had been more than a body could stand, a journey of fear, sadness and exhilaration by turns. It was enough to wear her out, except Erik would be coming back soon.

The boat and the night would be theirs.


	34. Concert

**Chapter Thirty-three: Concert**

_Def., Harmony or accord, for example, in purpose or action._

Emily saw him walking towards the edge of the _Erebus_. He approached and took a leaping step and landed on the deck. The boat dipped a little, shrugging off this new disturbance to its floating world.

Across the river sat a similar boat, with a light in its cabin. Voices lifted in song and dissolved into laughter over the river. Emily pointed. "Our neighbors are having a party, I think."

Erik leaned against the frame of the door. "Perhaps they will be on their way home tomorrow." He glanced down, seeing her small toes peeping out from the hem of her skirt. She sat with her arms linked around her knees.

"Do you think we will be going home soon?"

"Chase should have Sterns by tomorrow."

"We'll have dinner with him before we leave?"

"Yes. Another day here, unless you wish to stay longer." He let his question drift to silence.

She smiled, almost shyly. "I didn't count on coming to Paris like this."

He gave her a long look. "You weren't supposed to come to Paris at all."

She made a strangled noise in her throat. "I, uh, can explain that."

"You and Javier shall both be explaining." He moved to her side, perching on the side of the boat.

"I had him over a barrel. He couldn't blurt out in front of Chase that _you _weren't upstairs."

"Ah. It becomes apparent now. A bit of chicanery upon your part, Madame?" She glanced away and he gave her a moment. When she didn't explain he asked, "You let your curiosity get the better of you?"

She unlinked her arms and sat straight. "I wanted to know how curious _you _were."

He cocked his head, examining her face. "Me?"

She let out a sigh. "Annie."

"Annie?"

"She specializes in lonely men." She looked at his shirt, at his collar, at the pulse in his neck, anywhere but in his eye.

How did women think? Here sat the woman he had despaired of ever finding, and she was staring at her own toes, avoiding his gaze. She'd just admitted she was afraid he would turn his attentions to another-- that he would so quickly drop her for someone else he had barely talked to.

He rested his chin in his hand and gazed at her. "I think I've just been insulted."

Her face went blank before astonishment raised her brows a little. Her lips parted.

"No," he halted her. "I have been insulted. I'm sure of it."

"Oh, Dar--."

"Don't _Darlen _me! _Darlen_ will not fix this." He stood, glowering at her. "I am _Darlen_ because I am your _Darlen_. There are not others, Emily." He hitched a thumb at his chest, leaning over her. "I am _Darlen_."

Little lines folded at the corner of her eyes. Her lips began to thin, and lift. She nodded. "Yes, you are Darlin'."

"See that you remember that," he instructed.

She took in a deep breath and her smile stayed, immovable. To Erik, she had a mischievous glint in her eye. "What now, Madame?" he asked warily.

"Yes."

"What? Yes? Yes?"

"I told you 'yes' in the hotel when you were looking at the bed, remember? Yes, I'm ready to get married now."

That was not at all what Erik had expected to come out of her mouth. His tongue didn't seem to move with his thoughts. It had gotten captured behind his teeth and hid like some terrified creature. His whole body seemed to rebel. There wasn't enough air, his hands wanted to do something. His cursed voice had left him and only his heart toiled on, thumping hard inside his ribs.

And then he felt the warmth stealing from somewhere deep inside him, as deep as his soul. It fired his nerve endings and awakened a shocked happiness he had not thought he was capable of. "Em—?"

She nodded, looking young in the wan evening light and seeming shy, almost embarrassed.

Her hand stole towards him, wound around his leg and to the back of his thigh just above his knee. He had never been touched like this. It was so simply possessive he was certain he might never be able to speak again.

"Oh," Emily cooed. "I've learned to make you speechless?"

His future wife should know a musician can speak volumes with his hands. He reached for her, and she stood, tucking herself gently along the line of his body. Her hands ran up his back and her chin rested against his chest as she gazed up at him.

"You will be my wife."

Emily thought it sounded less a question, and more like one of his declarations. She smiled in response, clinging to his hard, masculine form. All bone and muscle, and one very active heart by the feel of him. The look in his one uncovered eye made her heart trip over. They were both where they belonged.

His hands slid down her sides, pushed her hands away from him. He turned and walked backwards into the cabin, leading her one step at a time, her hands clasped in his. As her last step brought her inside, he reached and closed the door behind them. There was a very precise click in the silence.

Emily blinked. "A lock?"

He lifted an eyebrow and she giggled. "You sure take your time for a man as smart as you are," she said.

A grin lifted his lips. "Allowing the lady her choice."

A feeling so sharp it was almost painful lanced through her. "I've made my choice." By the look on his face, he had as well.

"We have to publish bans first," he said softly. "We cannot be married for ten days."

"Ten days?" she asked, disappointed.

"You wish to wait?"

He was poised to move, and awaiting her. Emily knew he was one very steamed man. To deny him because of a scrap of paper and a ceremony was moot. They would be one, now and forever.

"No, Erik."

It was her turn to step backwards, leading him by the hand to the partition. A slow dance, his hands moved over her, his mouth closing to hers. Emily stopped when she felt the edge of the bunk against the back of her legs. "Love you," she murmured against his lips.

She stepped away long enough to sit on the edge, waiting for him to join her. She twisted towards him; a knee crooked on the bed, and began pulling her blouse out of her skirt band. His fingers wound with hers, slowly pulling the material free and over her head. His tongue slid along her lip, asking. Her head tilted back, she breathed, taking in his scent, accepting his kiss. Their hands found buttons and ribbons and the bottom of her chemise.

She sat back; his fingers grasped the material and pulled it over her head. Her fingers perched on his thighs; she felt a tug and winced. "Here," she whispered. With a quick smile, she dislodged her hair from a ribbon and the chemise was falling from their grip, her hair dropped on her shoulder.

Erik drew in a breath, and drank in the smooth column of her throat, the soft swell of her breasts, the lovely hue and shadow of her. His hands rose from her waist, explored each contour, and reveled in the slight shudder of her flesh under his hands and her soft gasp.

She stood, her skirt dropping to the floor, and her fingers sliding over his shoulders to dislodge his shirt as his mouth traced a line down her body. He pulled her to him, between his thighs as he sat and stroked her back, his face against her, buried against her skin. "You are beautiful."

He tugged at her waist and held her on his lap. He found places that made her breath come in gasps, and soft moans. When he paused, she was there. When he found a more pleasurable spot, she followed quickly. With every heartbeat and breath, they changed, submerged one into the other. What he hadn't expected to find was the joy that it brought.

Instinct told him what she needed, what touch she craved. Possession was a conduit to release his strength to her. Making love to her was to endure the mystery of a man finding his heart locked in a rhythm with a woman's, knowing the wonder of her hands upon him, her soft body opening to him.

Emily trailed fingertips down his chest as his kiss turned fierce, coaxing her deeper into the fiery well that consumed her. His touch told her she had made love, but it never felt this intimate before. The beauty of it made her want to weep.

Her fingers worked loose the buttons on his trousers. His hands tangled in her petticoat, and moved up her warm, firm thighs. He lowered his head to run his tongue over waiting flesh. She laid her head back and made a noise deep in her throat as he teased her nipple. Still trying to remove the petticoat, he finally gave it a last jerk as she lifted her hips. As it came free he flung it to the side of the room, and looked down upon her, running his hand over her stomach and slowly, lower.

"Mmm?" Emily ran her hands over his chest, "Is something on fire?"

"Oh, yes, Emily," he replied huskily. Looking up he realized it was her petticoat. It had landed over the lamp, and had a nice ring of flames working its way through the fabric. He leapt up, and flung the material to the floor.

Emily clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle at Erik's angry look. The lamp painted his skin gold, highlighted the surfaces of the muscles under his skin.

Rolling the material in his hands, he put the flames out and turned down the lamp. He moved back to the bunk, climbed on. Moving up the length of her legs he felt Emily's knee come up next to his thigh.

"Darlin," she said between kisses and moans, "I think my foot is stuck in your pocket."

God, what now, he thought. Erik moved to withdraw her foot, but she protested.

"Mmmmm, just take the pants off," came the throaty purr in the darkness.

His hands moved deftly, his elbow banging into the wall, withdrawing the last bits of clothing that had stood sentinel between what he desired, and what he was about to partake in. As they vanished so did the last vestiges of his composure. There was no turning back now. She had sat up and ran her hands over his chest, following with her tongue she found his nipple and teased it.

"Emily," he had the presence of mind to say, before he settled between her thighs. Her hips lifted slightly, and he moved to stroke her with his fingers. He buried his face into her neck as he coaxed her until she grasped, then lifted his hips, his hard flesh moving inside her.

This time it was her elbow that slammed into the side of the wall, and her small squeak of pain turned into a moan as they found a rhythm. He lost himself in the exquisite sensations their bodies created. Emily was there every moment, her hands pulling his hips harder to her. He cried out her name as they found the paradise they both strove for.

Her back arched, her teeth lightly grazed his throat. Erik knew the supreme satisfaction of a man bringing his woman to the breathless pleasure she craved. He moved to her side and lay close to her, one hand covering her stomach, pulling her possessively into his arms.

* * *

"This isn't anything like I imagined it." Erik said.

"Really? What were you hoping for," she asked lazily, her head resting on his arm.

"Soft lights, maybe a fireplace, a large bed with crisp, cool sheets, and the smell of roses, some wine."

"Good God, you are such a romantic." She laughed, "Am I wearing anything?"

He ran a hand down her hip, "Not now, _ma charmante'_."

"No. You know what I mean, in your fantasy?"

"Mmhmm, it was silk, beautiful, cool, dark blue silk. Like your eyes."

"Oh. I like that. Is it a present from Erik?" she asked dreamily.

His mouth moved to her ear to whisper, "De La Shaumette will buy you dozens if you wear one and sit on the desk sometime."

She made a startled noise, and laughed. "My hair got caught."

"I set your clothing on fire."

"Mmmm. You sure did."

"Flatterer," came a pride filled masculine reply.

"I banged my elbow." She whined.

"So did I. I think it was twice, but I lost count when you stuck your foot in my pocket."

She gave a snort, "I didn't _do_ that."

He lifted his head and looked down at her, "That wasn't a clever move to divest me of my clothing?"

"No, but I'll remember it when we get the bed with the sheets and rose petals."

A breeze meandered through the room, over the thin mattress of the bunk, the lumpy pillow, the rough sheet they lay upon, and Erik thought there was nothing finer in all the world.

He found her elbow and kissed it, working his way to her shoulder and neck. She sighed contentedly and rolled onto her back.

This time, the bunk started squeaking as they moved.

"Oh my God," She banged her elbow again as she covered her eyes with her hand in exasperation.

"You're welcome, Emily," came his masculine growl as he nipped at her shoulder.

There was a noise in the dark, and his accusatory voice, "Did you just hit me, you little monkey?"

The room was filled with a riot of squeaks as he found her foot in the darkness and tortured her until she submitted. Erik thought she didn't resist for very long.


	35. actus Reus

**Chapter Thirty-four:** _**actus Reus**_

Chase Kennard sat back on the canvas sacks stored in the cellar. Husani sat on a crate, a sticklike leg dangling. His dark eyes peered at Kennard over the edges of the cards he held. Chase tossed a card down and withdrew the unlit match from his teeth. The boy snatched up the card and tossed another down swiftly.

"Collecting spades, huh?" Chase grunted.

For a child with a smattering of French, he had managed through hand signs to explain he'd played cards on the steamer that had brought the artifacts to France. Chase felt surprised that the boy hadn't managed to win the ship out from under the crew. He'd managed to clean out Chase of almost all of the matchsticks they played for.

This round, however, was Chase's. He tossed down the cards and rubbed his hand over his face. Catching Husani's eye, he pointed to the small square window along the top of the cellar that provided a shaft of light in the dark room. Chase then pointed up towards the kitchen above them. Husani shook his head vigorously and pointed to the massive iron shape of the furnace that sat towards the back.

Kennard got to his feet and followed the boy. Around a pillar and at the far end was the coal chute. Husani pointed inside the bin. It was Chase's turn to shake his head. "It's all yours, hombre. I prefer taking up a spot in the bushes outside to having to climb in and out of that."

Husani grinned, saying something in his native Egyptian. He offered a hand, and Chase took it. After one sharp shake, they went their separate ways. It was full dark when Kennard saw a man walk up to the gates of the property and slip inside.

* * *

Annie was ushered into the dining room. The pale rose color of the walls was set off by the cream, gold, and blood red color of the rug under the dining table. A pair of chandelier glittered overhead. At one end stood Ned and their new boss, the man named St. Germain.

Annie didn't put on a smile as she entered the room. Until the job was finished, this was business, not pleasure. Despite the elegant surroundings, she knew this house was 'acquired' for the new boss's venture in Paris. Much like her disguises, once the job was done the house would be vacated and the coach would vanish like Cinderella's pumpkin. Some rich family would return to this townhouse and pause to wonder why small details might be out of place.

As she walked the length of the room, the last rays of the sun slashed golden beams though the tall windows. Stepping in and out of the light gave her the feeling that a lamp was going out. It was not a pleasant feeling.

Keeping her emotions from her gaze, she was seated near the head of the table by a man she had heard called Jochim. She arranged her skirt and glanced at the place setting while Ned and St. Germain took their chairs.

Of the men in the room, Jochim had driven the coach while Werther and Curt had carried her trunk out of the hotel. Ned must have met them as well, for they had picked him up first at the river this afternoon.

The men began circulating, offering dishes to St. Germain, filling the wine glasses. There was a glass for champagne, one for red wine, and a smaller one for Sherry. Between an array of forks and knives rested the china, gleaming with bands of ivory and gold along the edges. She nodded her acceptance of a dish and Curt delicately scooped the meat onto the plate.

St. Germain lifted his glass and tasted the wine. The meal began as he nodded his acceptance of the wine. Savoring the veal and rich sauce, Annie thought smugly that Sterns had never treated them like this. She knew little of their host, only that he had approached Ned, and typical of Darlington he had panicked and spoken to her.

St. Germain was a tall and robustly built man, possibly middle aged. His wavy reddish-gold hair was properly combed back and his pale blue eyes always bored into hers when he spoke to her. He had met with her after speaking with Darlington. For whatever reason, he wanted Sterns caught, the gang disbanded, and to spirit away Ned. She was the consolation prize in this deal, managing to convince him that Ned could not pull it off alone. Ned had agreed. Already nervous over being in France longer than they had believed, he felt the pressure of the police and the French syndicates closing in on him every day.

"We must have a toast," St. Germain raised his glass. "To Joseph Sterns, who in his short-sightedness has brought us together."

The clock on the fireplace mantel struck, a pleasant sound in the quiet of the room. "Will we be leaving Paris?" Ned asked. Annie was proud of him--he didn't stutter once.

"Tomorrow morning. There really is no need to unpack," he glanced at Annie. "I trust you have everything you need?"

They made polite conversation over their dessert. Annie stifled a yawn. The clock struck nine when the door at the end of the room opened. St. Germain got to his feet. "I am sure you are exhausted from your ordeals. I'll see you in the morning." With a curt nod he dismissed them and left the room.

Annie glanced at Ned. Despite the pleasant meal, the moment had arrived.

St. Germain strode to the front hall. "Three hours."

A tall silhouette broke away from the door. The light of the sconces caught in the pale hair that fell nearly to his shoulders. "Three hours," he agreed. Werther and Curt preceded the man out of the door.

* * *

Chase waited near the door to the cellar. Despite the warm summer evening, he felt the drenching chill that accompanied certainty. Certainty that Matthew Logan lay dead because of Sterns, and now, the certainty that Sterns would be brought to justice.

Sterns was taking longer than he expected. But he told himself to wait. Wait until he came out of the cellar with something in his hands. Anything would do. Let Sterns search frantically for the bust of the Queen. Let him stew in his own juices. Chase would enjoy that quiet despair. He'd lived with his own despair for two years, the years after he had buried Matthew, and seen to his wife and family. They would live forever with that despair.

The door pushed open, and Chase stepped forward, his Colt in his hand. "Joseph Sterns, you are under arrest."

The man's face looked worn. Perhaps the years of running had taken a toll on him. He eyed the gun.

Chase smiled grimly. "You can walk or be carried..."

* * *

Erik lay on his side in the first rays of dawn, propped on an elbow watching Emily sleep. The breeze off the river turned cool in the deep of the night. They had fallen asleep with her head upon his chest until he was coaxed awake as she burrowed against him. While it was flattering and exciting in turns to feel the line of her flesh pressed to his, he realized she was snuggled up for warmth.

While she slept, he ran a hand through her hair, lifting strands in the dark and remembering how the fading light in the cabin had made it a halo of tarnished gold around her face. They had drifted up from the intense well of pleasure as they completed their love and had fallen into an exhausted sleep.

"Emily De La Shaumette," he whispered. "My fiancée." He smiled as he tasted the rich nuance of that word. It would only be outshone by another word. Wife.

In ten days, they would have a civil ceremony as all of France did. They could have a small ceremony in one of the churches in Rouen. Families enjoyed those festive occasions. He would have a family of precisely two. Certainly Agnes and Etienne would wish to lavish food and drink upon any guests that Emily wanted to entertain. Javier and his family would insist on some sort of festivity. Phillipe seemed amicable to invitations of that sort. And unless his sister had found a more charismatic suitor, Sophie would gladly be where Javier was.

And there Erik would be, at the center of it all. Not the man who escaped Paris in wet clothing that reeked of smoke. Not this rough river rogue that walked the back alleys and the darkened warehouses. It would be De La Shaumette with his tailored clothes, his white mask, and his fiancée by his side.

Looking at her, he began to understand how two mated, creating a new entity. He'd felt the current of desire in her flesh, her love in her shining eyes as she looked into his when he slid into her awaiting body for the first time, her small body straining desperately to enfold him closer--to take him deeper than he had ever thought he could go, until he was dissolving into her very bones.

From this day forward, they would never really be separated. He gave her all he was, and she received it happily leaving sweet, lingering warmth inside his chest. Watching her, he felt that warmth stir, like a creature wrapping itself about his very core and imparting all the beautiful things he had glimpsed in the eyes of lovers as they looked at one another.

Emily moved a hand to scratch her nose. The hair on his chest must have tickled her, for she reared back and one eye slid open. She moaned and settled against him.

"Awake?" he asked.

"Hmmm. What time is it?"

"My watch was in my pants. I think we threw then over by the other bunk," he replied drily.

She lay for a moment. "By my petticoat?"

He cleared his throat. "I can't swear to that. We were in a hurry…"

"Mmmm," her murmur climbed a register in time to the curve of her lips. She kept her eyes closed, but moved a hand to his waist.

"Do you realize," he said softly, "that you told me 'no', and it meant yes?"

Her brows drew together. "I said yes, remember? I think I even had to tell you twice."

His hand drifted to her hip, a silken swell of warm flesh. "I don't mean the marriage part."

She studied his face. "A thousand times no, Monsieur," was her husky reply.

His body roared to life. "A perfect answer," he told her, his lips at her temple and his hand leaving her long enough to fling the sheet away.

* * *

Emily picked up her petticoat and stuck three fingers through the hole and wiggled them. Erik was in the water closet. He'd promised to make a cup of tea for her while she took her turn next. Breakfast in Paris sounded promising now that she was with him.

She sat on the edge of the bunk, noting how it didn't squeak _now._ She looked up as Erik appeared at the end of the partition. He leaned against the edge and smiled lazily at her. "You are blushing," he drawled. "Down your neck and to your shoulders."

Emily shrugged the sheet up higher. His gaze moved over her, leaving more heat in its wake. Lord have mercy, if she didn't get her clothes on, he might keep her here. He smiled like a cat and turned to leave her.

With the growing light, Paris began to swell with people and carriages. The storefronts were open, the owners busily helping customers with bright fruits and vegetables. The smell of warm bread wafted down the street, making Emily's stomach growl.

Keeping pace with Martin, she looked everywhere but at him. It was too risky now. Someone might see the glint in his eye, or how long she gazed at him. Thunderation! There had better be a wedding soon!

"Let's get a cab," he told her. "I want to go to the Louvre. We can have breakfast near there."

She did look at him in surprise. "You think something happened?"

His nod was curt. "Assuming we warned Kennard and Capegon soon enough, I think not." He stopped by the curb and lifted a hand. When a cab pulled over, he held the door for her and offered his hand.

Emily settled on the seat. He reached for her fingers. She pushed her ankle closer to his. Their gazes held each other the entire trip.


	36. Crown of Thorns

**Chapter Thirty-five: Crown of Thorns**

Annie sat reading one of the Paris papers in the drawing room. Ned had been taken to the library shortly after breakfast. The rest of the men in the house rushed hurriedly towards doors. Several times they left and returned, making straight for the library where St. Germain must be ensconced.

She stared at the newsprint listening to the sounds of the doors, and the low hum of male voices. At one point someone became quiet vociferous. Then there was utter silence for a number of minutes.

She began scanning the paper frantically. Surely an art theft from a museum as renown as the Louvre would had been splashed across the pages. To her growing discomfort, there was no incident mentioned. Something had gone wrong.

* * *

Every inch of the walls and ceilings of the Louvre were adorned with gilt frames, murals, and statuary. Several times, Emily stood with her head lifted, looking at the figures that rested on pedestals or hung in frames, until she felt a tap on her shoulder. She shot a quick glance at Martin as he stood, looking mildly interested. She glanced at people who stood nearby. "Is my mouth hanging open?"

He inclined his head towards another gallery.

They walked a step apart. The guards tracked their entrance and exit, while the rest of the visitors almost pointedly ignored them. While she had on a walking dress, it was one of her more serviceable pieces, and suited her companion's clothing for this venture.

Martin prowled from one display case to another. She could not dismiss the feeling that he was just as interested in the bars on the windows and bolts on doors they passed.

Emily walked, surreptitiously sliding a glance in a mirror, or looking for his reflection in a glass case. Taciturn as always, he appeared devoid of any emotion other than bored hostility. When they walked close to a pair of guards, she detected the faintest hum of tension in him. It was returned by the two men in uniform who watched him until he was out of view.

She sighed inwardly. Would they have treated De La Shaumette this way? If they ever returned, him wearing his impeccably tailored suit, escorting her in a fashionable frock, would they have attracted an interest of a different sort? She perversely wished to return one day, dressed to the nines and looking arrogantly bored in return to some of the looks they were getting today.

If they only knew, these Parisians, that an intensely gifted man walked determinedly among them, that a man such as he had a soul out of which poured the most soaringly beautiful music.

She lifted the very bottom of her skirt as they climbed the stairs to the exhibit. They passed a pair of young women who skirted the far side of the stairs, shunning their presence. If they only knew, she thought. An hour in his arms was worth more than a lifetime of dresses and parties and admiring glances. Glancing at his set features, and remembering how sweetly gentle he had been with her, she was certain that she had relinquished all of herself into the keeping of the one man who was meant to possess her.

They entered the gallery flanked by a pair of sphinxes. In front of them was a block of dark stone, and to the sides were displays of carving in _bas relief_ from tombs. Swaths of color still clung to the faces and the garments of ancient Egyptians.

It was a beautifully orchestrated display that ranged from large pieces of carving down to small, brightly colored strings of faience beads. Martin moved away, his attention snared by a sarcophagus in a glass case. At its feet sat the canonic jars with caps fashioned in the features of the gods: A human, a falcon, a baboon, and a jackal.

She moved to stand next to Martin. "They have such beautiful eyes. They all look happy."

"They have that same serene assurance that the bust of the Queen wore."

"Do you think it was what she looked like in life?"

His lips moved, a faint smile flitting by. "Who ever loved her thought so."

"Maybe they are happy to be going to their idea of heaven. Their lives cannot have been easy. I read that they didn't live to be very old."

He tilted his head and met her eye. "I prefer to think of it as compressing a lifetime into a shorter span of years. Surely they must have grown and loved, brought children into the world and survived trials in their lifetimes."

She lifted a hand towards the sarcophagus. "It's hard to believe that person inside lived over a thousand years ago."

He nodded. "Older even than that. Egypt was a great empire before Alexander rode out of Greece to conquer the world. Rome was still gathering itself up to become a force when the last pharaohs sat as gods upon their thrones."

They stood silent for a moment. Emily lifted her gaze and found his reflection in the glass looking back at her.

"I think we've seen most of this wing," he said suddenly. "I'd like to go to the more recent acquisitions."

"Oh?" She unfolded the guide that they had received when they purchased their tickets. "Well, I think there is more of the statuary along the outside of the doors and…"

"I'm thinking paintings."

His pace quickened. Emily gave up trying to examine the guide and keep up with him. She folded the paper into the top of her bag.

* * *

Emily glanced at her watch. They had found a café for breakfast. Noon had come and gone and although she wasn't hungry, her throat was growing parched.

Martin had kept them moving at a fair clip. She didn't mind, really. One exquisite porcelain pot looked much like any other even if it had belonged to a king's mistress. They slowed when they entered a hall of paintings; faces that belonged to the famous and the infamous gazed back at them from ornate frames that were works of art on their own.

Emily stopped to look at a painting by the Flemish artist Rubens. Martin's hand rested upon her shoulder. Following the direction of his riveted attention, she saw a painting of a group of men, dressed in Renaissance period clothing. From a window, a bright light pierced the room where they stood.

"_The Calling of St. Matthew_," she said.

Stepping closer, the next painting was undeniably biblical, a woman held a platter upon which rested a man's head. "_Salome with the Head of John the Baptist_," she read off the plaque.

"Paintings by an Italian, Caravaggio," he finished aloud. "On loan from two Italian cites and one each from Prussia, Spain and Vienna"

A wave of excitement crashed over Emily. "The books of the bible you were searching for?"

"Matthew, John, and Leviticus. Which one would be Leviticus?"

Three paintings remained at the end of the wall. _Sleeping Cupid_ with its slumbering child, _Rest on the Flight to Egypt _depicting an angel playing a violin while Joseph held the music and Mary and their child slept, and finally _Crowning with Thorns_ depicting two men pounding the thorns onto Christ's head.

He bent and carefully examined each one. Looking at the subjects, Emily admitted, "The thorns, I think. Leviticus talks about blood sacrifice."

He paced before the canvases and Emily stepped back to view them together.

"Two have sleeping children, one an angel if you discount Cupid, and one a condemned man."

What he didn't convey in the tone of his voice was etched in his movements. He prowled slowly along the wall, taking in each detail. He mentally ticked off features that they shared as well as picking up things that were unique to each one. And knowing him as she did, his leap of intuition would leave her thoughts still plodding an analytical road to where he had already reached the end.

Rather than think on it, she merely admired the work of the artist. "The plaque says that he used 'chiaroscuro, a bold contrast between light and dark'."

Martin stood looking at the men in the painting, arms raised, pounding the woven ring of thorns onto the head of the reticent Christ.

"Do you believe that is the third?"

He shook his head slowly and walked away, hands behind his back and head down. Before the entrance to the gallery he stopped at the threshold of the door, a dark figure against the light on the other side.

A small group was coming towards the paintings. Emily cast a last look over the canvasses and walked to join Martin. She stopped near his shoulder. "Let's find a café. I'm thirsty," she suggested. If he were going to woolgather, they could at least do it sitting down.

He threw a rather stern glance at her. "You should have said something."

She couldn't keep the grin from her face. "I just did."

Her mother had said smiles were contagious. Hers found its way to a self-deprecating version on his lips. "So you did." He inclined his head in a bow and swept a hand towards the door. "To please my fiancée."

"Keep that thought in your head, and you will be a happily married man." She nearly giggled at the warning look that crossed his features, full of the promise of dire masculine retribution in a secluded spot.

She'd be waiting hopefully for it for the next several hours.

* * *

Martin sat by the edge of the dock. Emily had retreated inside to 'freshen up' as she called it. He watched foot traffic along the street and kept an eye upon the time. Kennard should be showing up soon.

Emily appeared at the door of the cabin wearing a simple blouse and skirt. She needed no embellishment. Her eyes sparkled brighter than jewels, her nose was dusted with those small freckles that he had found were quite luscious as he had placed kisses upon them. Her hair was lifted from the nape, that elegant column that he had wrapped a hand behind to hold her mouth to his when they had come together on the rough sheets of the bunk.

She sat on a stool beside the cabin door. Smoothing her skirt she looked out over the water. "The other boat is gone."

He turned to glance across to the mooring on the other side. "They only stopped for the night then. They will have to keep moving to get the cargo to port on time."

"You and Javier had quite a few stories to tell about the river. It can't be hard work all the time."

"No. It is a flurry of paperwork and offices and then getting cargo lined up and loaded properly while dodging smashed fingers and raging tempers with the dock people. Then you pull the ropes in and pitch yourself into the river currents and sit back until the next stop."

"What did you do all those hours that you had to yourself?"

"Read mostly. I taught Javier to read in French. He also learned a touch of English and Prussian to get us through paperwork and customs." He glanced at her. "I used to make things."

"Things?" she prompted.

He nodded, feeling a keen touch of embarrassment. "I started carving. I made boxes and toys."

"Do you have any of them?"

"I found a shop with toys in the window and I'd make them and bring them to the shop to sell to the owner."

She felt disappointed that he had sold them. Not that there would be children between them to play with toys. A familiar pain set its self up behind her ribs. She would not be capable of giving him a child. With William, she had truly been relieved when she did not conceive. She never wanted to expose an innocent to his cruel tongue. He would have never been a loving father. Yet here was a man who had been cheated of every one of the simple things in life that people took for granted.

Martin noted her silence. Her gaze looked empty as she sat looking across the water. He knew her well enough by now, that something turned her thoughts inward. He didn't doubt she was thinking of the toys, of the children that would never be.

A sadness welled inside his chest. "We can adopt." He startled himself in that reckless declaration. Where had Erik gone? That man who had pondered every decision? The man who would have argued the folly of bringing a child between them when he hardly was sure of what it meant to be a husband let alone a father.

When Emily turned to look at him, his own breath froze in his chest. Her eyes were truly the windows that let him see into her emotions. They were filled with such longing that it became a truth beyond all denying—she wanted a child.

He would do everything in his power to please his wife.


	37. Answers

**A/N: One of those 'tying it up' chapters. When you see the little break '000" is where things heat up, if you'd rather not partake...****  
**

**Chapter Thirty-six: Answers**

Chase Kennard climbed out of a cab along the street. There was a hint of tiredness to his smile. "We got Sterns."

"He was alone?" Martin asked.

Chase tipped his hat to Emily. "We are only missing Annie and Ned. Whoever they tossed their luck in with has probably taken them out of Paris."

"Or not," Martin grumbled. "The Louvre?"

"We doubled the security. Henri talked the Sûreté into having some gents disguised and posted along the streets. No one heard or saw anything."

"So they say."

Chase sat a booted foot along the edge of the boat. "You know different?"

"If someone orchestrated all this, they wouldn't just roll up to the museum in that coach. You know as well as I do that a successful thief watches the area before they make their move. We've probably warned them off."

"Be that as it may, we'll keep an eye on the building. They will get tired after a while." He grinned at Emily. "Can I take you to dinner, Ma'mselle?"

Emily got to her feet with a smile. "Let me just get my bag."

As she disappeared into the cabin, Chase turned to Martin. "As you say, we will keep watch. Any idea as to what they are after?"

Martin let slip one of his rare half smiles. "Paintings. I'll explain while we eat."

Annie sat listening to the silence in the house. Most of St. Germain's men had left. Deciding no one would challenge her, she slipped into the library. Ned looked up from a table full of papers.

"He's got you busy already?" she teased.

Ned's eyes did not quite meet her own. "Certificates mostly. Any forger could copy these."

"What's the matter, Ned? You're not getting cold feet already are you?"

He toyed with the magnifying glass he held, spinning it in one hand. It stopped abruptly, a ray of sunlight caught and focused onto the papers on the table. "They didn't pull the job."

She felt hollow, the air escaping her lungs. "Why? What went wrong?"

"They have increased security at the Louvre. Someone figured it out, Annie."

"Kennard. Maybe Joe actually had a clue all along and told him."

"N-no. Joe was s-so sure they he sent you out to get caught. That part of the plan did work."

She made a disgusted sound, her bravado failing her for once. "It wasn't anything we did."

Ned sat staring at the papers, watching the sunlight slide across the surface.

"It wasn't," she retorted. "We did everything by the letter. It had to be Joe."

He shook his head. "Joe didn't know. If he did, he'd have figured out he was set up t-to take the fall for the Egyptian bust.

She marked his stammering had returned. Ned always stammered when he was nervous. She crossed the room and planted her hands on the table, bending towards him. "You listen to me. You and I did not let anything slip. Not one thing. If St. Germain wants to blame it on us, he's welcome to try. The truth is someone slipped up is all."

Ned dropped the magnifying glass and sat back. "Sure, Annie."

"Don't go get loose tongued about this. If his gang fouled the job, then let them hang for it, not us."

"Y-yes, Annie."

She turned on her heel and headed out of the library. If something had gone wrong, she didn't want to be caught talking to Ned, looking like they were covering something up.

The men selected an out of the way table at the restaurant. Emily was glad she had changed blouses earlier. The sun was sliding low on the horizon and the shadows of the buildings along the street gave her goose bumps as the exited the cab they shared with Chase Kennard.

Over their meals Martin explained what they had seen at the Louvre earlier. Emily watched the men, noting how completely Erik submerged himself into Martin, even holding his cutlery different. He favored his right hand more. She smiled to herself that he at least didn't chew with his mouth open. He wasn't completely the man from the river.

They sat back while the waiter retrieved the plates and refilled the wine glasses. Once he was out of earshot, Chase and Martin continued dissecting the meanings of the paintings.

"What if it isn't something in the painting?" Kennard asked.

"They were on loan from four different cities," Martin replied. "Maybe the clue is in the locations?"

"Or not at all," Emily mused.

"You mean something like a signature?" Chase asked. "I have seen that before. Some crooks can't help but thumb their noses at the law."

"Maybe that is the idea," Martin agreed. "Like the bust, it is meant to keep you busy attempting to unravel a mystery that does not exist."

Chase nodded, lifting his glass. "For the most part, it's over, unless someone does attempt those paintings."

Feeling pleasantly full and a little overwhelmed by the day and the previous evening on the boat, Emily stifled a yawn. She caught the glint of the pale wine in the crystal glass, watching the light. "I—remember something."

Martin and Kennard leveled concerned looks at her. "What?"

"It's probably not important."

"If it isn't, then there is no harm done," Chase reassured her.

"That last night at the hotel, Annie came down and joined me for dinner. We made small talk. She asked me about Remington and coming to France." She paused, seeing Annie's features and her questions. "I said I was chosen because I spoke French, mentioning the different keyboards. She said, '"What about Prussian and Spanish?'."

"That would coincide with the cities," Martin replied. "Two were from Italy, and one each from Prussia, Spain and Vienna."

"Could be a base of operations," Chase drawled. "That's a lot of Europe to cover to find two Americans."

The men sat back, but to Emily there appeared to be thoughts still working behind their eyes. "We may never know."

Chase waved to the waiter. "Let the Pinkertons pick up the bill for this." He offered Martin a hand. "You have been most invaluable. I appreciate De La Shaumette lending you to me for this."

Martin stood and shook Kennard's hand, then watched as Chase offered to pull out Emily's chair.

The cool air felt welcome after the meal. The sun had dropped far enough that the street was filled with purple shadows while the roofs still reflected the golden light. A cab rolled to a stop.

Chase reached for Emily's hand. "It has been a rare pleasure, Madame Griggs."

Emily smiled as she shook hands. "I'm glad we could help you find the gang. Will you be going home soon?"

"Not for a few weeks. There are extradition papers to be brought up, and I think I'd like to take advantage of being in Europe. I'm owed a few days off before I go back." He turned his head away from Martin, giving Emily a wink as he added, "Maybe you should introduce me to that boss of yours."

Emily glanced at Martin. "You've known him longer. What do you think he'd say?"

Martin made rude noise. "Probably what he said to me the first time we met. 'What the hell are you looking at?'"

Chase watched a pink flush rise in Emily's cheeks. "He doesn't talk like that," she sputtered.

Martin gave her a long perusal that intensified her heightened color. "Not to you."

"He is a gentleman," she protested.

Chase hid a grin as Martin snickered and Emily Griggs adopted a look that said if she had her gun, she'd have taken a shot at him. Unable to resist, Chase piped in, "Maybe I should take a trip back to Rouen."

His companions turned to him with mixed looks. "What for?" they both asked. Chase held up a hand. "Just a thought."

A cab rolled to a stop next to the curb. Kennard pulled out his watch. "The guards should be changing before midnight."

Emily watched Martin as he stood holding open the cab door. He didn't say a word. He didn't need to. Emily was sure that after a few hours, Martin would have someplace to go. The Louvre.

She watched out the window as the cab neared the river. The water caused the temperature to drop as they got closer. She also heard the birds still calling as they watched for fish.

As the cab slowed, Martin pushed open the door and leaped out. He held out a hand for Emily. She realized then, that he always checked the streets before allowing her out. It wasn't simple caution, either. There would be no foot traffic, and the street sounded empty except for their cab. He must be checking the boat.

She stepped down and waited until he paid the driver. He offered her a hand, and she let him guide her by the elbow to the deck of the _Erebus_. "You're going to museum, aren't you?"

The masked side of his face was towards her and she could have kicked herself for not waiting until she could have read the answer to her question in his eyes.

"You'll be safe if you lock the door."

She let out an exasperated breath. "I'll be safe? I'm the one that took a pot-shot at the coach, remember? They aren't going to go looking for me anytime soon. You," she poked a finger towards his chest, "are the one I'm worried about."

They stepped inside the cabin. He turned to close the door slowly. She waited for him to reply, but saw a strange light in his eyes. "What is it?"

One dark brow lifted. "I seem to remember someone taunting me today."

A thrill passed through her as he took a step towards her. "Who would do that?" She retreated as he kept moving closer, stopping abruptly as she backed into the table.

He leaned forward, placing a hand to either side of her, capturing her. "Is that denial on your face, _ma charmanté_?"

Despite the low rumbling of his voice, Emily couldn't keep the smile from her lips. "I never was a very good liar."

"You are like a piece of fine crystal, _ma belle_. You show me your heart." His lips brushed hers softly. "And that most becoming blush." With a wicked grin he lifted a finger, trailing it down her cheek to her neck and to the top button of her blouse. "Does it go…?"

Emily let out a startled laugh as he pulled at the blouse and peered downward. His lips fastened on the base of her throat and she felt herself melting. "Darling."

He broke off the kiss. "Dar-ling? What is dar-ling?"

"It's the correct way to say—"

"Dar-len?"

"Yes."

"Never mind." He made an impatient gesture with his hand. "I want to hear you say Dar-len as I take you in the night."

Her hands flexed. She felt the edges of the table and clung to it for support. "Oh, Erik." Her voice sounded high and breathy.

"I like hearing that, too." He kissed her once, slowly and deeply. Pulling her by the hands he went to the partition. "Let's see if the other bunk squeaks."

000

William had done this. But with him it had felt demeaning, as if he were bending her to his needs. Erik held her cradled in an arm, on her knees as his body covered hers. She felt protected, cherished, rather than a woman being mastered. True to his word, he caressed her, kissed her, moved with her with a commanding yet gentle hand.

When she felt her body catch fire, a trembling in her legs began. He moaned against her body, his voice made her shiver, and her back arch against him. Something rough pressed against her back. As she came, crying aloud, she felt his twisted cheek against her.

He'd turned her on purpose, not to explore her body, and not to experience the sex. He'd slipped the dark covering off of his face and made love to her so that he could spare her his face.

A tear slipped from her shut eye. "Erik…" Emily grasped one of his wrists and held on as with a primal roar he came. He eased them down onto the bunk, lying behind her.

"Erik." She reached behind her, searching for his face. He intercepted her hand and twined his fingers with hers. She clenched them until her own fingers hurt. "Erik, don't hide from me. I love you." She squeezed harder, feeling her own joints threatening to pop. "I love you."

He lay very still behind her. Letting go of his fingers, she wiped at her own eyes. "If you want the mask off, take it off. When it's just us, it doesn't matter. I wouldn't have come to your bed if I had any reservations."

His fingers pushed the hair from her face. With a sigh he draped on arm around her waist, his fingers splayed over her belly. He pulled her back into his body and laid his head next to hers.

Emily slipped into a contented sleep, the soft texture of the black mask under her fingers.


	38. Lessons to Be Learned

**Chapter Thirty-seven: Lessons to Be Learned**

Emily awoke as fingertips ran gently up her arm. Erik's hand sought hers, pulling the mask from beneath her fingers. She lifted her hand and covered her eyes. "Are you going to the museum?"

He kissed her cheek. "Yes."

"Why? Is there something we missed?"

"No. Chase is going to be watching tonight. I have an idea to share with him."

"And you are joining him because….?" She felt him shake his head.

"Because they threatened you and Javier. If there is a chance to catch them now, I want to be sure that it happens." His voice dropped to a familiar growl. "You are mine to watch over, Emily."

"Can I uncover my eyes?"

"Wait." She felt his movements, and the sound of the soft material. He lifted her hand away from her face.

"Be careful. Do you want to take one of my guns?"

"No. I'd rather they stay with you. Lock the door after I leave. I have a key so there is no need to open it to anyone."

"Will Javier be with you?"

"He's already there watching. His Spanish temper is still running high over his losing Ned Darlington to those people. I can't blame him. We were all sucked into this."

"Don't go in there angry. Angry men make mistakes."

He paused and searched the darkness with his fingertips, tracing the contour of her cheek. "I learned that lesson. I'm going to make sure no one else has lacked that training in life."

Emily caught his fingers and turned her face into his palm, kissing it. "_Je t'aime_."

"_Je t'adore, mon coeur_."

* * *

Chase Kennard glanced at his pocket watch by the light of a street lamp. The replacement guards had arrived and been dispatched to their posts to stand watch. Now the waiting would begin again.

He'd tucked his watch back in his vest pocket and searched for one of his cigarettes. With a start, he felt someone standing close by. Charles Martin stood in a dark patch near the building, just out of the circle of light from the lamp. With the dark covering over his face, it was only as he turned his head that Chase realized he was there. "You're out late," he commented.

Martin leaned against the bricks, one leg bent and his foot against the side of the building. "I have an idea."

Dreading another night of walking the streets of Paris, Chase gave Martin his full attention. "Shoot."

When the Frenchman cocked his head, Chase grunted, "I mean to say, what is it?"

"On the boat, we came to the conclusion that the bust may have been a ruse to keep you busy. What if this is as well?"

Chase mulled over the question. "You aren't trying to divert me from watching the museum, are you?

"How badly do you want to find out who is behind this?"

From the moment he had met Martin, Chase never discounted that the man may have another agenda beyond what his employer wanted. Not all businesses were on the up and up. Ruminating over the addition of Madame Griggs on the trip did seem to point to a level of cooperation from De La Shaumette. Chase struck the match in his hand and lit his cigarette. What did he have to lose?

* * *

St. Germain paced between the window and the desk, examining the work Ned Darlington had accomplished during the day. He turned with a curt nod to the American. "I require several of these certificates. Your work is excellent."

Darlington reached for the papers. "Thank you, Monsieur."

"Ned, what can you tell me about that woman at the hotel? Was there animosity between her and Mademoiselle Reilly?"

Ned hesitated, his silence spoke more eloquently than any denials. St. Germain had already observed his stutter. If he tripped over his words now, he might be lying to protect the woman. It wouldn't be the first time a man had made foolish decisions because of a pretty face, but it might certainly be his last.

Ned cleared his throat. "Annie's from a poor Irish family. She sees everyone as an enemy." He pointed to his shoulder. "We say she has a chip…."

St. Germain nodded. "I understand. She feels put upon even when she is not." At least the man was not attempting to cover for her. "What do you know of the woman?"

"She's American. She came over as a liaison to De La Shaumette. He volunteered her to keep an eye on Annie since we were bringing her to Paris by boat."

St. Germain sat behind the desk and adopted a relaxed air. "Tell me about the Spaniard."

"He's quite the talker." Ned paused. "I think the one you should watch is the other man, Martin."

"I have not seen him yet."

"He's unmistakable. Half of his face is covered by a cloth mask. If any of them have a clue to what is going on, it will be him. He was close with Kennard. Rumor has it he is De La Shaumette's henchman. He and the Spaniard have worked together for a while."

St. Germain lifted a hand in a casual gesture. "So he is an accomplished thug. That sort of man has his uses."

Ned shook his head. "He's the one who kept the bust of the queen at the boat. He learned from Burns about Annie and Sterns going to the Louvre."

"Hence the reason for the increased number of security guards," St. Germain retorted. His stomach roiled as he contemplated the long hours of meticulous planning wasted. He'd been very close to pulling off the entire job until Arkady and Werther had returned this morning, saying they couldn't get near the museum unseen.

"Will we be leaving soon?"

"I still have a few things to take care of." With a flick of his hand he dismissed Darlington. "Send Arkady in."

The door closed, shutting him in with his thoughts. The delightful anticipation of a completed coup was giving way to frustrated anger as nearly six months of planning went for naught. He hadn't anticipated the Pinkerton's resourcefulness, or the addition of these other people to assist him. His careful behind the scenes tinkering had gotten the obvious results, but the event that had triggered all of this was now going to have to be reconsidered.

There was a brief knock before Arkady Krasikov stepped into the room and closed the door. His eyes were a pale blue like the winter sky of his country. He was tall and strong as a Russian peasant should be, but his face carried a hint of an aristocratic forbearer. If he weren't so competent an employee, St. Germain not have put up with his coarse ways. The man was blunt, honest to a fault. He had made spur of the moment decisions on two occasions that had saved St. Germain money and a lot of trouble with the law. The Russian had become indispensible, even though St. Germain despised his breed.

Arkady crossed his arms over his chest. "Do we leave?"

St. Germain folded his hands in his lap and looked over the desk. "I want you to make another attempt. We've come too far to go back empty handed."

Arkady's face revealed neither agreement nor disbelief. "Same time?" he asked in his lilting accent.

"I'll leave that up to you." The Russian turned, but St. Germain stopped him as his large hand wrapped around the door knob. "What can you tell me of that woman in the hotel?"

"She was on her way up the stairs. If Reilly had not spoken to her, she would not have stopped and seen you."

"She did see me. Are you positive?"

"The woman taunted her. She appeared resigned to let her go until that time." He added in a low voice, "I did not travel to Paris to get shot at."

"Neither did I," St. Germain retorted, understanding the Russian was inferring that things had gone seriously awry. Trust to a fiery haired Irishwoman to bring trouble to his door.

"She saw you."

"That is most unfortunate." For whom, it remained to be seen.

* * *

Emily lay listening to the sounds of the river. It didn't seem right that she was here and Martin was out there. But then, he had always lived this way. There was no use in worrying over it. She'd only talk herself into believing the worst might happen when in truth, he might come back swiftly after talking to Chase Kennard.

She did get up and toss back on her chemise to check the door. It was locked. She bent down by the end of the cabinet and retrieved her shotgun. Carrying it back to the bunk room, she laid it on the floor next to the bed, placing the box of shells next to it.

Leaving it loaded would go against everything her Father had taught her. Even waking from a deep sleep, she would be able to send a shell home and have the muzzle aimed at the door before someone could come in. And if they did, it would be so much worse for them than for her.

She thought about the coach and the man with the icy eyes. He hadn't been pleased he had been seen. She'd made her mind up in that instant that asking for help from the people in the hotel might only endanger someone else. Annie's parting remarks had done what they were designed to do; they'd touched a fuse that ignited her anger.

While Annie had coconspirators, Emily could only think of one close friend at hand. One look at the gun had been enough for the men at the coach to hightail it.

Sam Colt was right. 'God made some men big, and God made some men small, but Sam Colt made all men equal.' Those fellows didn't have time to read _Remington_ on her shotgun, but they caught the direction of her thoughts. _Back off, or else_.

* * *

Martin sat on a crate in the alley and watched the intersecting streets. Four streets over, Chase Kennard would be doing the same, keeping an eye upon one of the other doors that graced another wing of the museum. Javier had caught up with them and taken the streets to the south. He'd brought the two Pierre's with him, and they offered to keep watch as well for a fee.

A noise from behind him raised the hackles on his neck. He listened without turning until he could tell how close the noise originated. After a scratching sound, Martin let out a sigh and sat back. An ugly little cat sat perched on the edge of another crate. It opened its mouth and offered a silent meow. No more than skin and bones, it sat challenging this new interloper to its territory.

"Catch yourself a plump rat, little one. I'm not here to steal your dinner." He turned and looked back at the quiet Parisian streets. "I'm here for the bigger rats."

* * *

Emily heard booted feet hit the deck at the end of the boat. Snatching up the gun, she sat on the edge of the bunk poised to load the weapon until the unmistakable sound of a key turning the lock made her relax. Picking up her chemise and struggling into what clothing she could, she peered around the partition.

Martin was closing the door and making shushing noises. He struck a light to a lamp and Emily glimpsed a dark furry ball resting on the cabinet. Two golden eyes appeared; a notched ear flicked up and then lay back along the cat's head. It hissed almost silently.

Martin followed the cat's gaze. Emily smiled at the guilty look on his features. "I made a deal with it in the alley. She wouldn't point me out, and I'd give it something to repay her loss of rats for dinner."

She folded her arms and tried to keep a straight face. "So you go out hunting crooks and pick up cats instead? It must not have been a productive night."

He grinned back and looked her up and down. "I wouldn't say that."

The fur ball took an interest in what he was searching for and stepped a foot onto his shoulder as he squatted down in front of a cabinet. He tore a slice of ham into pieces while the little cat attempted to swat the meat from his fingers. She hooked a piece with a claw and pulled it out of his finger.

"She's a scrawny little thing. That has got to be the easiest meal she's found in a long time."

"I'll put her out when she's finished."

"What?" Emily sputtered.

"She's a street cat, she won't stay here," he replied. "I'll set her outside and she'll find another alley by morning." Seeing Emily's questioning look he told her, "You'll see." He looked down at the small cat. "You'll be gone like the morning mist on the river, won't you, little cat?"

Emily watched him put the cat out of the cabin and then come back in to lock the door. He reached for her hand and let her lead him back to the bunk. Emily stretched out onto her side and waited while Erik climbed over her to lie next to the wall. He settled his head on the pillow and slid a hand to rest on her hip. She felt his lips press to the back of her neck.

And then they heard the first low growl. It climbed the scale to a high pitched yowl and settled down to become a plaintive meow that did not stop.

Emily bit her lip to keep from laughing as she heard Erik's exasperated sigh. "It will leave," he growled.

For a scrawny fur ball, it sat on the deck and sang its little heart out to the Paris night.

Emily finally snickered. "Yes, it will leave." She burst out in giggles. "Maybe she expects ham for breakfast before she goes looking for another alley."

Not only did the cat keep talking, another joined in. "Alors!" Erik grunted. He felt Emily trying to stifle her laughter. "All right, I'll let it in, but you will have to clean up the mess in the morning!"

"Leave a window open. She can come and go as she pleases."

Erik slid his pants on. "Leave a window…." he muttered. Pushing open the cabin door, he waited for a small dark spot on the deck to start moving towards him. "Inside, Carlotta!"

The cat was so black he lost her in the cabin, but could hear her purring. She wound her way around the stools and under the table. Erik leaned over the cabinet and slid the window open. He bent down and found another slice of ham while Carlotta wove around his leg. "Enough," he told her. "Go to sleep or go outside, just no more caterwauling."

He and Emily had settled back down in the bunk when Carlotta came and sat on the end of the bed and purred.


	39. Matthew

**A/N:** Mominator, you asked about why Emily covered her eyes. Since the incident with the boat, I think she's picked up how important it is to Erik to be respected. Knowing this, she isn't about to try to wheedle him into believing his face is 'no big deal'. She'd rather let him know it is up to him to reveal as much as he wishes.

**Chapter Thirty-eight: Matthew**

Morning came too quickly for all three of the bunk's occupants. Two had no choice, while one small cat stretched out on the end of the bed decided it was fine with her if breakfast was late. This place was much nicer than the bricked alley she'd been living in. When she smelled ham being fried, she got up to see what else was available.

Emily tapped an egg against the pan and widened the crack in the shell with her thumb. The egg hit the pan and sizzled. "Look who got up for breakfast." She glanced at Martin who sat at the table looking over the Paris newspaper. "What did you call her last night? Charlotte?"

"Carlotta," he replied, dropping the paper. He reached for the scruff of the cat's neck. In a swift movement he was heading for the door with a spitting cat.

"You aren't going to throw her out now are you?"

Martin turned to see the concern on Emily's face. "No. Just making sure she doesn't have companions." He strode to the edge of the boat and dipped the cat straight into the cold river. She fought and yowled while he held her head above the water. "No fleas, _chat noir_."

Emily appeared at his shoulder with a towel. "I don't think you are going to be her knight in shining armor anymore." She laid the cloth over the side of the boat.

Martin lifted the sopping cat out of the water and let her down on the deck , where she stumbled to get away from his imprisoning hand.

"Aw, she looks so pitiful," Emily cooed. "Did that bad man put you in the water, honey?" The last of her words were in English. It dawned on her that she had let them slip because Martin looked up at her as if he was considering holding her in the river. "Don't look at me like that," she retorted.

"_Dee-the bahdman puhtew inze outer oney_?"

Emily blinked, feeling her mouth fall open. Other than his rich French accent, what he parroted back to her was nearly everything she had said. "How do you do that?"

His expression lost its pugnacious challenge, his eye looking unfocussed. "I listen."

It was said so softly, that Emily bent closer to him. "What was that?"

He looked down at the cat, his dark eyelashes covering his eye as she watched him. His lips resumed the taciturn flat line that he always wore as Charles Martin. With a small shake of his head he repeated in a raw voice, "I listen."

Tightness gripped her chest, as she recalled his writing. He'd lived in the dim world of the cellars while above his head the brightest of Paris had come to hear the offerings of the most famous composers in the world. Alienated, ignored, rebuffed, he'd been the guest who'd never been invited. As would most people, she could only compare that loneliness to what she had experienced, not capable of feeling how humiliating it must have been for such a gifted man to not even been allowed a chance to show himself worthy.

The gap between Martin and De La Shaumette made more sense now. Martin was the darkness, while Erik was the shadow thrown up on the walls that mimicked the cream of society, the people he tried so hard to emulate. From the gold cufflinks in his shirts to the shine on his expensive shoes, he'd made his exterior as acceptable as possible. It was only that few square inches of material on his face that had banished him from the elegance that should have welcomed him. Once he left that realm behind, he slipped back into the darkness, and took on the characteristics of a working class man. What was commonplace along the waterfronts had formed Martin, but not totally removed the last vestiges of what Erik wished to be. She would have to let him explain the enigma of De La Shaumette's birth.

Carlotta spat and struggled to stand up and run as he gently but firmly rubbed her with the towel. He ran the tip of a finger over the notch on her left ear. "That's an old scar for one so small. Dare I ask a lady her age?"

Carlotta's ears flattened and lifted. It looked to Emily as if she was trying hard to stay offended, but loving the large hands that enveloped her. Martin tsked, and the cat's ear's shot upward. "You have a kink in your tail," he mumbled. He let her go, and she bolted a few feet and turned to sit and watch her tormentor. She curled a paw and started licking it, dismissing him.

Emily went back in to continue cooking while her thoughts raced. Was listening how he learned music? Was that how most everything managed to percolate down through the rock to where he hid? As he came in, she asked, "How did you learn to read?"

He appeared surprised at the question. "The younger children in the ballet lived in dormitories in the Opera. I listened to their lessons when the tutors came. There is a library there where many of the copies of librettos are kept along with sheet music."

"I love libraries," she told him. She sat a plate down in front of him, resting a hand on his left shoulder. Emily thought she detected stiffness to his posture as she stood next to him. Very slowly, as one would move around someone who had been abused, she bent and placed a kiss upon his temple. She turned back to the small stove. "New York has the biggest library I've ever seen. You could spend days there and not see every shelf."

The sound of stomping feet approached the door. There was one swift knock and then the door burst open. Javier Fernandez entered looking bemused. "Do you know there is a cat sitting outside?"

Emily grinned and held up a plate. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"No. Yes? I don't know." Javier waved a hand towards Martin. "Ask him."

"Have breakfast, Javier."

"Are we leaving today?' Javier plopped down on the other stool. Emily stood with the spatula in her hand waiting for the same answer.

"No, we aren't." At Emily's crestfallen look Martin added, "Chase asked for one more night. We _will_ be leaving tomorrow."

Javier picked up a cup from the table and drank from it, screwing his eyes shut. "This has sugar in it."

Martin leveled a glance at Javier. "That is because it is Emily's."

"Sorry, _querida_."

Emily replaced the coffee with another cup. "What does Chase want to do now?"

Martin rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand. "He was hoping some informants might come forward with information."

"Not likely," Javier retorted. "You and I know this is someone from outside Paris. Common thieves don't bother with this sort of work, nor do they drive impressive coaches."

"I haven't seen the coach. Is there any way to identify where it might have come from?"

Javier shook his head. "Black as the devil's heart." He glanced at Emily. "Did you notice anything?"

She slid a plate before him. Standing with her hands upon the top of the table she looked down at the Paris newspaper. It dissolved before her eyes to the scene below her window. She could still see the faces of the men as they scurried to the far side of the coach, putting it between them and her shotgun. "Most coaches I've seen have Percherons or Belgian teams. I think these horses were German Coach horses. They lacked the feathers and the thick neck and head of the bigger breeds."

Javier shrugged. "There have to be thousands of horses in Paris. You can't hope to find four black ones?"

"That's true," she replied. "But I can tell you one thing, a coach that size requires trained grooms and a driver. A berlin is a bigger rig than a cab."

Carlotta appeared on the table top, walking nose first towards Javier's plate. Martin scooped her up and sat her on his thigh. The top of her head peered over the table edge, her eyes watching his fork. He pushed a piece of ham closer to the edge. She quickly snatched it with a claw.

Javier finished his coffee and got up to retrieve the pot, watching in amusement as the little cat's eyes fixed on Martin's plate. "You know, I like Paris. But I want to go home." A fleeting look between Emily and Martin told him he wasn't the only one who wanted to leave. "How do we occupy ourselves?"

"Enough for now. You'll make yourself sick." Martin sat the cat on the floor.

Javier watched as Emily slid an egg onto another plate. "Here, _querida_, take the stool." She sat, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you for breakfast," Javier told her.

The cat gave a plaintive meow, looking back and forth between Emily and Martin. Javier snickered. "Just like my mother's cat. He always begs from my mother and father."

Things appeared to be very domestic aboard the boat, even more so than the time they held Emily aboard after kidnapping her. Wheels began to turn, drawing to the certainty that both of them had nothing to say over breakfast, because they must have already said everything they needed to.

Martin got up from the table, taking his plate to the small tub used for dishes. "Javier and I have to run some errands for Kennard."

Emily held her cup in her two hands, and stared at him over the rim. "Didn't we say goodbye to Chase over dinner?"

Martin gave a negligent lift of his shoulder. "He has some things he wants to check into."

To Javier, Emily looked resigned to accept his answer. He watched as Martin leaned over the end of the table and placed a kiss on her lips.

Martin was out the door and up to the street as Javier pulled the door shut. Catching up to his employer and friend, Javier wondered when the man would let him in on the news that his relationship had progressed farther.

* * *

Arriving at the office of the Surete, Chase Kennard accepted a chair by a desk to await Henri Capegon's arrival. Henri appeared, a paper tucked under his arm and his straw hat in his hand.

"Would you care for a cup of coffee before we do this?" Henri asked.

"No thank you, Henri. I've been like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Let's get this over with."

Henri led him to a separate office. The sound of their steps rang out on the wooden floor, echoing around the room that held a table and three chairs. Sitting with his elbows propped on the table was Joseph Sterns. By the looks of him, they had not allowed him to shave. It was a precaution; one never knew the depths of some people's despair at the prospect of spending years in prison.

Henri went to stand near the window as Chase took a seat across from Sterns. They stared at one another in silence. After years of playing hunter and hunted, they indulged their mutual curiosity of each other.

"I hear you got Tully and Burns." Sterns' voice was raspy. "What about Annie?"

"You didn't ask about Darlington."

Uncertainty flickered in Sterns' eyes. "You already arrested him. Burns told me he heard it from Annie." The man's eyes lit with something akin to humor. "Lost him, have you?"

Chase sat fuming while Sterns slid a glance at Henri. "So much for the abilities of the Surete and the Pinkertons."

"Annie's gone. She and Ned Darlington were picked up by a large dark coach about the time you were being apprehended." Chase watched the rising ire in Stern's eyes.

"I want to make a deal," he spat.

Chase nearly snorted aloud. "You need to talk to the French about that, Joe. You are their property since you were stealing them blind."

"Yeah, but you want me extradited, and you want it bad, don't you?"

A few weeks before, Chase Kennard would have moved the heavens to drag Sterns back to America. "It's enough to know you'll be in a cell."

Sterns gave a curt nod. "I am sorry for that man's family…."

The surge of emotion nearly choked Kennard. He would have happily pulled his gun and shot Sterns down in cold blood. Sarah Logan and her children were all that remained witness to the life of a good man and Chase's partner. Matthew Logan's ghost would not rest easily if Chase lost control now.

Joseph Sterns scratched at his cheek, his whiskers rasped. "The gunman was Tully's cousin, a Mic right off the boat. He'd been reading those dime novels—thinking America was the Wild West. Tully was just as horrified to find the kid had a gun." He paused and looked Chase in the eye. "I know its cold comfort, but it's all I have to give. You know how it goes in New York. No one pulls a knife or gun on the coppers." His voice changed as he stole a glance at Henri. "I want Annie Reilly found. She was more than happy to see the rest of us rot in prison: she can come along."

"What have you got?" Chase asked.

"Burns learned his trade picking pockets. Once a thief…."

A frisson of excitement pulsed through Chase. "What'd he get?"

"The last job she did up a few streets from here, she came back late, saying she'd been followed before she could throw away the disguise she wore. Burns found a calling card in her bag with a gallery's name on it."

"An art dealer?"

Sterns smiled.

* * *

Martin hung back, sending Javier Fernandez to the door of the office of the Surete. Taking up a spot on the street corner where he could watch the door, Martin saw Javier come out of the door and wave.

Seeing Chase Kennard hurry from the building, Martin crossed the streets between two cabs and leaped into the one Kennard and Javier climbed into.

"I've got an address," Chase explained.


	40. Porthos

**Chapter Thirty-nine: Porthos**

Kennard explained what Sterns had told him while the cab lurched forward and stopped again. Arriving at the gallery, they met with its owner, a robust man wearing pince nez spectacles. "Monsieur Bazaine?" Kennard asked. "I'd like to ask you some questions." He offered his credentials.

"The Pinkerton Detectives? Good lord, has someone stolen paintings?"

"That is what I'm here to investigate."

Martin helped interpret Bazaine's answers for Kennard. All of the information seemed vague; Sterns' lead was a very slim thread to base evidence on. Noting the paintings on display he asked, "Do you accept commissions?"

"The only commission we handle is on the sale of finished art displayed here at the gallery. We do not do any work ourselves."

"Do you do restorations?" Kennard asked.

"Not for some time. My previous partner used to hire out." He shook his head. "It is a lot of work and no one wishes to pay for the hours."

Martin looked over at Javier, who walked along looking at the displayed pieces. The Spaniard glanced towards the back of the area. Martin gave him a slight nod. While Kennard asked another question, Javier wandered towards a door marked 'private'.

Since the gallery only displayed art, there were no supplies of paints or canvas kept for artists to purchase. It was looking as if they had wasted a trip. Javier popped out of the door and gave a slight shrug.

"Any break-ins?" Martin asked.

Bazaine smiled. "Most thieves don't bother. It is difficult hawking a painting on the street. Some of our artists are not well known yet. Unless the thief knew a lot about paintings, he would not know whose work to steal."

Chase nodded. "You wouldn't happen to have a Darlington would you?"

Bazaine considered. "That name does not ring any bells for me."

"I wouldn't think it would," Chase replied. "What about a Caravaggio?"

"No, but we did repair a frame for one. It was damaged in transport. Just a lower section, you understand. One of the people from the Louvre brought the piece in and we matched it with another piece we had. He was quite pleased, said he'd been searching all of Paris to find another frame that was close."

"So he took the piece with him?"

"Yes."

"Do you recall his name?"

"Let me look in my ledger. He paid and asked for a receipt to present to his department."

Kennard followed the man to a small office, while Martin and Javier stood near the door. Bazaine wrote the name on a slip of paper. Chase shook the man's hand. "Thank you, Monsieur. You've been very helpful."

Back on the street, they walked to the corner of the block. "The man who came for the frame is named du Vallon," Kennard said.

* * *

The museum was busy in the afternoon. People bent over display cases and stood staring up at paintings and statues, talking in hushed voices. Martin watched the gallery as Javier wandered to a bench and sat down. Kennard was waiting for Henri at the front doors. With credentials from the Surete, Henri Capegon would be able to ask the directors to allow them to examine the museum's work rooms and the credentials of the employees.

Javier sat rubbing a hand over his face. "Now maybe we can get back to Rouen."

Martin smiled grimly. "You know as well as I do that this person might not be with the gang. It could be anyone: an employee, a guard, even one of the cleaning people."

Javier glanced towards the American. "What _are_ we doing here?"

"What ever it takes," Martin replied smoothly.

"You really want to catch these people? I didn't take you for an art lover."

Martin turned, showing more emotion than Javier had ever seen upon the half of his face. "They might have killed you, Javier. And they have seen Emily." He frowned, sending unease skittering up Javier's spine. "I want them _removed_."

Javier saw Kennard approaching and got up, giving Martin's shoulder a tap.

Both Henri Capegon and Chase did not appear happy. "Let me guess," Javier drawled. "No employee by that name?"

"No. No one by that name has ever been employed with the museum in a capacity to be anywhere near the paintings."

"Where would the work be done?" Martin asked.

"The offices are at the end of the building," Henri replied.

"Take a tour of them. Javier and I will meet you at the café across the street."

Chase watched Martin walk away. "What the hell?" He turned to Henri. "You heard the man—let's take a look."

An hour later the investigators drew chairs out at a table and sat down, ordering a cool drink. Chase glared at Martin. "You knew."

Martin finished his drink. "I wasn't certain."

"How?"

"_The Three Musketeers_. Porthos, Aramis, Athos, and d'Artagnan. Porthos' name was du Vallon."

"I don't remember that," Javier interjected. "I read that one."

"It's in _Twenty Years After_. You didn't finish it, remember?"

"You said Porthos' died at the end," Javier protested. "He was my favorite."

Kennard scrubbed his face with his hands. "Henri, these two are going to drive me to the point of inebriation. What the hell are they talking about?"

"I believe Monsieur Martin is suggesting our criminals are not the average sort," Henri replied drily.

"Someone has gone to great lengths to thumb their noses at us," Martin said quietly. "Theft is simple. It's about money or the exchange of something valuable. It rarely involves violence, at least in France," he clarified for Kennard. "We have been set up to bring the gang together and to make sure that Sterns is removed. Why? They are a group of thieves, no more, no less. Tully appears to be the only one with enough spit to take someone on, but that could make trouble. Burns appears to carry out his work, but as you can see, still has talented fingers. That leaves Annie and Darlington who have been brought into a new gang."

"I wouldn't think they would want Annie," Henri added. "Darlington has rare talent. We've seen how he can carry it over to several mediums. The question is did they want him to copy the Caravaggio?"

"It makes more sense than just theft, as you said," Chase replied. "Getting into someplace like the Louvre and walking out with a painting is almost impossible. Substituting a fraud would give them time to get the actual painting out of the country and keep the police busy here."

"But which one?" Henri asked. "And why? As Martin has pointed out, this does not seem like a theft."

"It could be," Martin answered. "The Caravaggios rarely leave the countries that hold them, I believe. Once we are sure which painting, we may unravel the why of it."

"Monsieur Kennard is a guest in our country," Henri added. "A theft of this magnitude has another implication. It might be political." They sat in silence, glancing at the street.

* * *

Emily took her book and moved from the table to the bunk. Carlotta insisted on head-butting the book for attention, causing Emily to read the same paragraph a number of times. "You sure like people for an alley cat. Maybe someone tossed you out?" Carlotta rolled onto her side to allow Emily to stroke her belly. "Poor thing. I saw that a lot in New York. Where I come from, you'd be a barn cat." Carlotta yawned hugely.

After another chapter was finished, Emily got up and walked out onto the deck, deciding it was time to have a bite of lunch and hoping Martin would come back ready to leave Paris. Not that he would be any happier than she would about Ned, Annie, and their new gang getting away. It stung to think they'd been invited to a card game with no idea of the stakes. They would leave Chase with Sterns, Tully and Burns. That would have to do for now. Maybe the Surete would find the others.

A wave of goose flesh travelled up her arms. Any street in Paris might be where that coach was. It was not a comfortable feeling and she did not like it one bit.

Being with Martin and Javier was reassuring. Returning to Rouen was even more promising. The gang wouldn't bother with following them. Whoever they were they had to know their time was short before Chase found something and traced them.

She sat on the side of the boat and watched the traffic along the street above the river. It occurred to her that a tall, dark-haired man stood in the front of a store window much longer than he should.

Emily retrieved her book and one of the stools from the cabin. Two could play the game of observation, if that was what it was.

When the cab rolled to a stop along the river, Emily breathed a sigh of relief. "Well? Are we leaving now?"

Martin gazed at her and she felt her hopes wilt. Javier appeared next to him, looking sufficiently glum to tell her all she needed to know.

"What is happening now?" she asked.

"We are going to be busy tonight," Martin said. "You will be safe here. I've asked a pair of business associates to watch over you."

Her gaze slid to the store front and the dark haired man. "Is that one of them? Because he's been staring at a tobacconist's window for a long time."

Martin didn't even turn to look. "Yes, I asked them yesterday to keep an eye on the boat."

"Didn't keep an eye on _my_ boat," Javier groused.

"_I've _been keeping an eye out for you," Martin retorted.

Javier snickered. "An eye. I like that."

Emily though Martin might actually do the Spaniard some bodily harm. "So I am supposed to stay here until you get back?"

"I'm sorry, _mon coeur_. I'll bring you back to Paris when all this is past."

Emily had to smile. Coming back she would be Madame De La Shaumette. She wouldn't need her shotgun in the hotel on that trip. She was sure her husband would keep her sufficiently entertained. "Maybe for our honeymoon?"

Javier perked up. "Did you say honeymoon¡Dios mío! Did he ask you to marry him?" He grinned hugely at Martin. "What took you so long?"

Martin brushed off the comment. "Let's get something to eat. Can I at least take my fiancée to dinner again?"

"Yes," Emily agreed. She glanced at Carlotta. "Guard the boat and I'll bring you back something."


	41. Sacrifices

**Chapter Forty: Sacrifices**

Dinner was in a small café along the waterfront. The food was satisfying and the atmosphere friendly, which amused Emily. She didn't really think Martin cared one way or another how lively the crowd was. Javier was in his element, smiling broadly for the local ladies.

Try as she might, Emily could not get any more hints about what Kennard and Martin had up their sleeves. She tried outright questions, round about inquiries about who they dealt with at the Louvre, and even resorted to some business tricks. Short of begging, it was painfully obvious that Martin wanted her nowhere near the museum. She finally sighed, admitting defeat, and consoled herself with a serving of a pear flan.

Leaving the café they chose to stroll along the river. Twilight had dimmed the buildings in the distance, its magic play of light bringing out the colors along facades and the verdigris on lamp posts along the bridges.

Nearing the boat, Emily noticed her watcher was gone. Martin told her the man would simply find a less conspicuous place to observe the boat from now that the streets were emptying. He told Javier to wait on the street and walked Emilie back to the boat's cabin.

She turned to him, and stepped into his arms. "Be careful, I love you."

He held her gently after a firm hug. "You will be safe here with your gun and your guards."

"I have more than one?"

Martin looked down at his boot. Emily saw Carlotta circling them. "She wails loud enough to wake the dead."

Despite her worries, she smiled. "Wonderful. If the boat is under attack I can count on dozens of pairs of shoes flung out of windows to shut her up."

He smiled. It looked a little crooked, and very self-conscious, as if it were wrong for such a hardened man to give way to that tidbit of humor. It made her want to know if he was a tad bashful, or if it was because he was not used to letting his guard slip.

"Will you be coming back soon?" Asking exposed her own insecurity. It would not bring him back any sooner.

He appeared to assess her thoughts. He was very still as he watched her. "No."

When he offered no reassurances, Emily felt the hair left at the nape of her neck. She was facing the Phantom again. How quickly those small changes in him now leapt to the forefront of her notice. It was a darkness so deep it overshadowed his emotions. An implacable face of stone had more animation. It was chilling.

It was also the face of the man she knew had so much more inside.

"Erik," she whispered, daring to break their careful avoidance of that other name, that other man who did not exist outside of Rouen. "Listen to me. This is not your place to find these people. We were asked to help, and that we have. Most of the gang has been caught."

His eyes focused on her with relentless intensity. "It is my position to protect you," he hissed.

"You can't protect me from everything. Have you thought that you might be doing this for revenge?"

He stiffened. She added quickly, "We are safe. Javier is and I am. I don't want you to chance being seen in Paris. Please, think on this. Help Chase tonight, but that is the end of it. He has the police and the Surete to help if needs be. The longer we stay the greater the chance that someone might remember, might question who you are."

She'd said enough, and reluctantly waited for his decision. Like the mask and his face, it would be his choice, not hers. A lifetime of walking a thin line to ensure his survival would not be reversed simply by her pleading.

She would not beg either. He wasn't doing this in the heat of anger. It did not worry her that he might misstep. It was the others that inhabited the city that might be captured by a half-remembered tale of a madman in a mask. His disapproval radiated from his stiff posture and his compressed lips. He was not a man who thought in terms of 'we', he thought in terms of 'I'. _ I want this. I will do this. _

The silence became oppressive. She thought briefly of a pot about to boil over, the lid dancing on gouts of steam that blasted out the top. When he finally took a deep breath, she mimicked it without thinking.

"Who I am," he asked through clenched teeth, "or who I was?"

With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she knew his facile mind had turned her words and looked into the depths. So much rested on her answer, for she had unwittingly muddied the surface. How quickly the skein unwinds when dropped into the clumsy hand. Pleading words would be seen for what they were; an attempt to halt a spreading stain.

_Think, Emily!_ She was the one used to staring down an older brother, and groups of businessmen. She'd even called his bluff. It angered her that facing the Phantom, he might be relegating her to that sort of virginal, simpering little singer he had ruled. If she had to be catty, she might as well yowl as loudly as Carlotta. "Where I come from if it looks like a duck and walks like a duck, then it's a duck."

"Another of your colonial witticisms?" his voice barely disguised the arrogant lift of one corner of his mouth. "It is all correct for you to claim to protect me, but I cannot extend that to you?"

"Oh." She felt as if she would wilt with shame. He was right, in his own roundabout way of looking at their situation. "I guess I am being selfish."

He appeared mollified. "I'll be back. Keep the door locked."

"I will."

He turned and was out the door swiftly. She'd probably made him late for his appointed meeting and the thought made her feel worse. She was concerned about him. How he had turned the tables on her still stuck in her craw. She had a lot to learn about her future husband.

* * *

The wagon rolled to a stop. "Are we going to sit here all night? They already tried that." Javier swept an arm in the direction of the museum. "Look at it. With all the open space around it, anyone could be seen well before they attempted getting in a door." 

Martin sat a booted foot along the edge of the wagon, seeming to settle in for a long wait. "We will see if Kennard found anything."

Javier stroked his mustache and glanced along the streets. "This is madness. No one could get in."

"Maybe they are already there."

"How? You mean they stayed inside?"

"Could be."

"But, we would see them coming out."

"Precisely why we are waiting out here."

Javier sighed and leaned back on the wagon's seat, pulling his hat down over his eyes. "Wake me if you absolutely have to." He'd barely got comfortable before he heard footsteps. Pushing up his hat's brim, he saw Kennard approaching.

"We're in luck," the American began. "Henri was intrigued by your idea that the paintings came in from different countries. He talked to the staff and they said the Italians were the most reticent to part with theirs. It seems they haven't allowed one of Caravaggio's religious paintings out of their country ever." He offered a slip of paper to Martin. "They had to deal strictly with this man, Gaspare Rabatini, who works at the Italian embassy.

"Now, so far, everything checks out. Henri and I attempted to talk to this gentleman and were told he is out of the country, and has been for the entire month. He's gone home to visit relatives."

"Including the time that the painting has been here in Paris?" Martin asked.

Chase grinned. "Yep."

Javier shot a glance at Martin. "Yap? What is yap?"

"He means yes. Why do you ask me?"

"You spend more time trying to figure out Emily's English than I do."

"Scoot over," Martin instructed. Javier gave Kennard a hand up. "The house is only a few blocks from here."

* * *

St. Germain watched from the coach windows as the wagon pulled up before Rabatini's house. "Damn the man. Doesn't he ever give up?" 

"Don't you know the Pinkerton motto?" Annie drawled. "_We never sleep_."

St. Germain glared at the woman. She sat looking forward, the dim light outlining her profile. "Who are the two with him? Is that the Spaniard?"

"Yes," Ned Darlington answered. "Fernández is the dark haired one. The other is Martin."

"Fernández is the one we let go."

"You didn't tangle with Martin or you'd remember it," Annie quipped. "I have a feeling he's had a hand in hunting you down."

"Him?" St. Germian retorted, carefully examining the man with a dark swath covering half of his features.

"She's r-right," Ned answered. "He's a hard one to get p-past. He's been sent here by his boss. He has a reputation for being a hard case."

Annie shifted on the seat and looked out of the window. "I think he's got a thing for his boss's ladyfriend. You saw him, Ned. He about blew his top when he saw she was in Paris."

Ned shrugged. "J-Just doing his job. It makes it difficult to have a woman underfoot."

Annie let the remark slide. The last thing she sensed she should do was give St. Germain a reason to turn his anger on either her or Ned. The truly important part of his machinations had just withered before his eyes. He'd instructed them to pack and be ready to leave immediately.

The painting that Ned had worked on ceaselessly behind Stern's back still rested in the dining room of the house they had just walked out of. What St. Germain had hoped to do, switching the paintings, she didn't understand. He should have just stolen the one and left when he had the chance. Even she knew he couldn't hope to sell it for years.

St. Germain gave an order and the coach lurched into motion. She sat back and brushed at her skirt, hoping the ride wouldn't be long. She did so hate to have to press her own garments. Maybe wherever St. Germain was moving them to, he could afford a domestic staff.

* * *

"I can't believe you are doing this," Javier mumbled. "What if you are caught?" 

Martin looked over his shoulder at his companion while holding a light for Chase to pick the door lock by. "He's got credentials. I'll tell them it was his idea."

Chase shot an annoyed glance at Martin. The door swung open silently. "Just let us know if that black coach shows up."

Martin and Kennard walked into the front hall. Kennard found the gas sconce and lit it. The emptiness of the house had a surreal feeling to Martin, who had spent many years living alone while listening to the people around him. There was no one here.

Furniture sat in the parlor, covered with canvas sheeting. Chase lifted a corner and looked under. "Closed up just like someone was going for an extended trip. I'll check out the kitchen."

They traversed the rooms, joining up at the bottom of the stairs. Martin pointed at a door. "There is a newspaper that is only three days old on the desk."

"Come into the dining room," Kennard said.

Following the American, Martin saw another canvass covering a large rectangle that rested against one wall. Together they each took a corner and lifted it carefully off. Below was a copy of the painting _The Crown of Thorns_. The faint aroma of linseed oil permeated the air. The smell meant the paint barely had time to dry. He didn't voice his thoughts. A man who worked a cargo boat shouldn't know anything about working with oils.

"We didn't get them, but we know they didn't carry out whatever they were planning," Chase said softly. "I suppose I should take this to Henri for safekeeping."

They dropped the canvas and backed out of the house with the painting. Once secured in the wagon, Chase went back into the house and extinguished the lights.

"So that's it?" Javier asked.

"Yes," Chase replied. "Our job is finished. Let's drop this off. I'll buy you gents a drink."


	42. What Never Leaves

**Chapter Forty-one: What Never Leaves**

Martin sat on the wagon and watched the horses while Javier and Kennard carried the painting up a flight of stairs. Unlike the local police, the Surete offices had closed for the evening. Chase decided to take the painting to Herni Capegon's for safe keeping.

Javier came down the stairs first. Stopping on the sidewalk he glanced up and down the length of the street. "Quiet neighborhood."

Martin grunted in assent. "Close enough to walk to his office. He was either very fortunate to find an apartment that close, or the Surete pays well."

"You think so?" Javier sounded intrigued. "Do they pay spies? I'm never averse to earning a little pocket change." He grinned, sensing Martin wouldn't rise to his bait.

"You would have to talk to them," Martin grumbled. "It's the sort of job where you put yourself in jeopardy hanging around every low-life tavern in town. I don't think Sophie would be happy with that."

Javier set a boot on the edge of the wheel and adopted a thoughtful pose. "You're right. She wouldn't want me around any unsavory types like you."

Martin snorted. "_Pendejo._"

Javier grinned at the slight lift of Martin's lips. It signaled a change from the taut mood that had hovered around him all evening.

Chase appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "Henri says we can forgo keeping either of you in Paris for statements since I was with you when the painting was found. You are free to return to Rouen in the morning."

"Good." Javier pointed down the street. "We passed a tavern on the way. Want to try that one?"

They tied the wagon out front of the window of the tavern. Most of the patrons were already deep in their cups and paid no attention to their arrival. Going to the bar, they picked up drinks and then squeezed into a small back table.

Chase raised his glass. "My thanks. We couldn't have done it without you."

"Our pleasure," Javier replied. He hitched a thumb at Martin. "He's not happy we didn't get them all."

Chase grinned. "How can you tell? He always looks like that."

Martin lifted an eyebrow.

Chase sat back with a sigh. "The hardest part of this job is learning patience. It's taken me five years to get to Joe Sterns. The fact I have him at all is probably more to do with the new gang not wanting him rather than a slip-up on his part." He poured another shot into his glass.

"What will happen now?" Martin asked.

"First we will look into that Rabatini fellow from the Italian Embassy and see if he was part of this, or if someone used his name. That could take time because Henri says they can't take the chance of stepping on any of the Italian's toes, so to speak. While he's working on that, someone else will be trying to track down Rabatini and see if he really was involved. If not, then we will know that it was someone in the Embassy that agreed to this."

"But why?" Javier glanced at the other patrons. "People like that aren't going to commit theft."

"How can you be sure," Martin said. "Embassy's are considered part of the country they represent. How do any of us know what goes on behind their doors?"

"I can tell you it is way out of our league," Chase refilled the glasses. "We all know that criminals and the police make deals. The reason I came over for Sterns was that a man was killed during a robbery. It's an unspoken agreement that there is no gun-play. The police pick up who falls out of line and the rest of the criminals carry on in a low-key manner. When they start pushing boundaries, then the police haul them in. It's the way it is. When you are keeping the peace in the city of this size, you get used to a little compromise."

They finished their drinks in silence and filed out of the tavern. "It's late and I want to get an early start." Javier offered a hand to Chase. "Let us know what you find, if you can."

"I will, Javier."

Martin let Javier take the wagon. Chase pulled out one of his cigarettes and lit it. "You ever fish?"

"Certainly."

"You bait your hook and you cast out your line and then you wait. Finding this group is going to take some fishing."

Martin reluctantly smiled at Chase. He sounded like Emily when she used the phrases he had come to think of as her American wit.

Chase exhaled a cloud of aromatic smoke. "I don't need to tell you that fishing might be what they are planning to do as well. They saw Emily Griggs."

An icy uncertainty wove through Martin's insides. Fear he could deal with. It was the endless questioning of himself and everything around him that wore on his nerves. In the past he had gone down deep into the earth that had hidden him. Like a spider he would retreat to the safest place he knew. "I'm taking her back to Rouen tomorrow. Annie and Ned could tell this new group where she is, but why would they want to come there for her?"

Chase stepped away. "It might not be her they want."

Silence stretched between the two men. Adrenaline surged through Martin's veins. He kept his breathing level and returned Chase's frank appraisal.

"You're him aren't you?" Chase asked. "You're De La Shaumette. The chance of two men with masks is a little thin, especially when one is never seen."

Martin said nothing, feeling a wave of relief that Kennard had not pieced together the story of a madman with a ruined face that stalked the Opera.

"If I stay in France," Chase began, "could I count on you to help me if I have to go across the border?"

"You plan on going after them?"

"Yes. I've learned to be a patient man, but not one who gives up easily. There are some things you can never leave behind." He waved a hand, the end of his cigarette glowing brighter. "Pinkertons never sleep."

"Keep me informed," Martin replied. "We will be ready when you need us."

Chase grinned. "You take care of that little heifer of yours. She's got some sass."

Martin cocked his head, peering at the American. "_Sass_?"

"You know, some gumption. She's got nerve. Not every woman would fire a shotgun out of a window. Most would just run to some man and hide."

Martin was still staring at him. "_Hef-air._ What is _hef-air_? Is it like _filly_?"

Chase hooted in laugher. "You call her that, she might come shoot me. Never mind I said that." He became serious. "I wouldn't let you leave Paris with her if I thought you couldn't take care of her. She is an American citizen."

"She is safer with me than with anyone," Martin replied in a low voice.

"I picked up that impression along the way."

Martin had worked assiduously to scour the actions of the Phantom from his presence among others. Forcing himself to deal with people he had tamped down the rage and the lust for control. The last vestiges of that man lay beneath his skin, allowed to surface when the situation called for it. Perhaps Kennard realized that darker element of him is what Martin could never leave behind.

Chase ground out his cigarette. "I'll catch a cab back to my hotel. We may meet again, Monsieur." He offered a hand, and Martin grasped it. Kennard walked away, tipping the large brim of his hat down over his face.

* * *

"Any problems?"

Pierre le Grand shook his head. "She came out for a while with the little cat. The rest of the time she's been inside. No cabs have stopped along the street, and only a few men walked by. It's been quiet the whole night."

"My thanks," Martin replied. "We shall be leaving in the morning. Tell your brother that the Pinkerton is staying for a while longer. They believe that the few members of the gang have left the city, and perhaps France. He's going to send word to me if he finds anything out. I'll let your people in Rouen know."

"Good. We can all get back to business." Pierre stepped out onto the sidewalk. "Until next time."

Martin waited until he had disappeared up the street and left the alley. Stepping onto the boat, he took one last look before unlocking the cabin door.

* * *

Emily heard footsteps and the sound of the key. Carefully pulling her feet out from under the sheet where Carlotta had curled up, she rolled off of the bunk and went to the partition. "How did it go?"

Martin rubbed at the whiskers on his cheek. "We got the painting, but the gang was gone."

She groaned. "What happens now?"

"Now," he said as his hands settled on her waist, "we get a few hours of sleep. When dawn arrives we will go back to Rouen."

Emily rubbed her hands up his spine. "What a terrible let down after all you've gone through."

"Kennard thinks he still may be able to trace them. Until that time, you are safer in Rouen, and we have plans to make."

He stepped away from her and doused the cabin light. Emily sat on the edge of the bunk until he had washed up and began stripping off his clothes. She lay on her side and watched him with a catlike grin. Martin climbed over her and Carlotta, pulling Emily closer. With a sigh he pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck.

Carlotta opened an eye and stretched. She climbed to her feet and jumped down to the floor and over to the room's other bunk. If her two humans were going to keep making the bunk move, she'd find another spot to nap on.

* * *

Thanks to all my readers, reviewers and my super beta! This is not the last of Erik/Martin and Emily. The next installment will be titled **_Cat's-Paw_**. 


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